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OCT 





































































































FIRESIDE SAINTS, 
MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK, 

AND 

OTHER PAPERS. 



In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow, 
Thou'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow ; 
Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee, 
There is uo living with thee, nor without thee. 

Martial, as translated by Addison. 



Fireside Saints, 



MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK, 



AND OTHER PAPERS. 



BY 

DOUGLAS JERROLD. 



A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. 

Shakespeare. 



NOW FIRST COLLECTED. 

BOSTON: 4 
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
New York : 

LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM. 
1873. 



K 1 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, 

By LEE AND SHEPARD, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



/' 



Stereotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, 
No. 19 Spring Lane. 



NOTE. 



Leigh Hunt, in a little speech at the Museum 
Club, said that if Jerrold had the " sting of the bee, 
he had also his honey." In this volume 'there is, 
undoubtedly, more honey than sting ; though, it 
must be confessed, there is also plenty of the latter, 
particularly in "Mr. Caudle's Breakfast Talk," 
"Silas Fleshpots," "Michael Lynx," and "The 
Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils" — a story or 
allegory almost as grim and ghastly as anything in 
Spenser. But if these papers, and perhaps one or 
two others, are full of caustic humor and biting wit, 
keenly and unsparingly exposing " the hypocrisy 
of life," many of the essays, sketches, and stories 
in the collection are remarkable for their pleasant 
satire, and easy, good-natured Rabelaisian philoso- 
phy. Even the " Hedgehog Letters," which are 
nothing if not satirical, are not very bitter or ill— 

5 



6 NOTE. 

natured in their assaults upon cant and humbug in 
church and state in England. " The Recollections of 
Guy Fawkes " is a paper nearly as genial and pleas- 
ant as an essay by Leigh Hunt or Charles Lamb. 
And the "Fireside Saints" are, I think, the sweetest 
and sunniest of Jerrold's writings. The fancy, grace, 
and humor of these little thumb-nail sketches will 
be appreciated by the reader, who, after perusing 
them, and others of kindred excellence in the vol- 
ume, will, I hope, say, with Hawthorne,* " I like 
Douglas Jerrold very much." 

None of the papers in this volume are included 
in the collected works of Douglas Jerrold. 

J. E. B. 

Melrose, July 24, 1873. 

* English Note Books, vol. ii. p. 11. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Fireside Saints i 

Saint Dolly, Saint Patty, Saint Norah, Saint Betsy, Saint Phillis, 
Saint Phcebe, Saint Sally, Saint Becky, Saint Lily, Saint Fan- 
ny, Saint Jenny, Saint Florence or Saint Nightingale. 

Mr. Caudle's Breakfast Talk 16 

Chapter I. — How Mr. Caudle married Miss Prettyman, and 
how he "nagged" her to Death. 

Chapter II. — How Mr. Caudle begins to show off "the Fiend 
that's in him." 

Chapter III. — Showing how Mr. Caudle could go out and en- 
joy himself. 

Chapter IV. — Showing how Caudle, having lost Money at 
Cards, determines to abridge the House Expenses. 

Chapter V. — Showing how Caudle came Home very late, and 
very vinous : he complains of Want of Sympathy. 

Chapter VI. — Showing how Caudle brought Home some 
" Good Fellows " to spend the Evening, and found Mrs. Cau- 
dle with some Female Friends at Tea. 

Chapter VII. — Showing how Caudle brought home a New- 
foundland Dog, insisting that "The Poor Animal can't add to 
the Expense." 

Chapter VIII. — Showing how Caudle thought " that Bill " set- 
tled a long Time ago. 

Chapter IX. — Showing how Mr. Caudle objected to Mrs. Cau- 
dle's Female Friend, a Visitor for a Month. 

Chapter X. — Showing Mr. Caudle again perplexed with Do- 
mestic Finance. 

Chapter XL — Showing how Mr. Caudle thought something 
"very odd." 

Chapter XII. — Mr. Caudle's Defence of his Tyranny. 

An Old House in the City 38 

Some Account of the last Parachute. . . 77 

7 



8 CONTENTS. 

My Husband's " Winnings." — A Household Inci- 
dent. 86 

Midnight at Madame T.'s 104 

The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. . . 122 
The Little Great and the Great Little. . .149 

Pope Gregory and the Pear Tree. . . . 154 

Some Account of a Stage Devil 163 

The Castle-builders of Padua. . . . . 181 

The "Lord of Peiresc." 185 

Brevities . 205 

Pigs : Addressed to those about to leave Busi- 
ness. 207 

Silas Fleshpots : "a Respectable Man." .. . 212 

The True History of a Great Pacificator. . 238 

Michael Lynx: "the Man who knew Himself." 257 

Recollections of Guy Fawkes 278 

The Hedgehog Letters. ...... 286 

Containing the Opinions and Adventures of Juniper Hedgehog, 
Cabman, London ; and written to his Relatives and Acquaint- 
ance, in various parts of the World. 

Letter I. — To Peter Hedgehog, at Sydney. 
" II. — To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
" III. —To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
M IV. — To Michael Hedgehog, at Hong Kong. 
" V. — To Mrs. Earbara Wilcox, at Philadelphia. 
" VI. —To Mr. Jonas Wilcox, Philadelphia. 
" VII. —To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
" VIII. — To Samuel Hedgehog, Gallantee Showman, Rat- 

cliffe Highway. 
" IX. — To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
11 X. — To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
«• XI. —To Miss Kitty Hedgehog, Milliner, Philadelphia. 
" XII.— To Mrs. Hedgehog, New York. 
•* XIII. —To Richard Monckton Milnes, Esq., M. P. 
" XIV. — To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 
" XV. — To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 



FIRESIDE SAINTS. 



Saint Dolly. 

AT an early age, St. Dolly showed the sweetness 
of her nature by her tender love of her widowed 
father, a baker, dwelling at Pie Corner, with a large 
family of little children. It chanced that, with 
bad harvests, bread became so dear that, of course, 
bakers were ruined by high prices. The miller fell 
upon Dolly's father, and swept the shop with his 
golden thumb. Not a bed was left for the baker or 
his little ones. St. Dolly slept upon a flour-sack, 
having prayed that good angels would help her to 
help her father. Now, sleeping, she dreamed that 
the oven was lighted, and she felt, falling in a show- 
er about her, raisins, currants, almonds, lemon-peal, 
flour, with heavy drops of brandy. Then, in her 
dream, she saw the fairies gather up the things that 
fell, and knead them into a cake. They put the 
cake into the oven, and dancing round and round, 
the fairies vanished, crying, " Dravj the cake, Dolly ; 
Dolly, draw the cake" And Dolly awoke and drew 
the cake ; and, behold, it was the first Twelfth Cake, 

9 



IO FIRESIDE SAINTS. 

sugared at the top, and bearing three images of Faith, 
Hope, and Charity. Now, this cake, shown in the 
window, came to the King's ear ; and the King bought 
the cake, knighted the baker, and married Dolly to 
his grand falconer, to whom she proved a faithful and 
loving wife, bearing him a baker's dozen of lovely 
children. 

Saint Patty. 

St. Patty was an orphan, and dwelt in a cot with 
a sour old aunt. It chanced, it being bitter cold, that 
three hunters came and craved for meat and drink. 
" Pack," said the sour aunt ; " neither meat nor drink 
have ye here." " Neither meat nor drink," said Patty, 
" but something better." And she ran and brought 
some milk, some eggs, and some flour, and beating 
them up, poured the batter in the pan. Then she 
took the pan, and tossed the cake once ; and then a 
robin alighted at the window, and kept singing these 
words : u One good turn deserves another" And 
Patty tossed and tossed the cakes, and the hunters ate 
their full and departed. And next day the hunter 
baron came in state to the cot, and trumpets were 
blown, and the heralds cried, " One good turn de- 
serves another" And in token whereof Patty be- 
came the baron's wife, and pancakes were eaten on 
Shrove Tuesday ever after. 

Saint Norah. 

St. Norah was a poor girl, and came to England 
to service. Sweet-tempered and gentle, she seemed 



FIRESIDE SAINTS. II 

to love everything she spoke to. And she prayed to 
St. Patrick that he would give her a good gift, that 
would make her not proud, but useful ; and St. 
Patrick, out of his own head, taught St. Norah how to 
boil a potato, A sad thing, and to be lamented, that 
the secret has come down to so few. 

Saint Betsy. 

St. Betsy was wedded to a knight who sailed with 
Raleigh, and brought home tobacco ; and the knight 
smoked. But he thought that St. Betsy, like other 
fine ladies of the court, would fain that he should 
smoke out of doors, nor taint with 'bacco-smoke the 
tapestry. Whereupon the knight would seek his 
garden, his orchard, and in any weather smoke sub 
Jove, Now it chanced, as the knight smoked, St. 
Betsy came to him and said, " My lord, pray ye, come 
into the house." And the knight went with St. 
Betsy, who took him into a newly-cedared room, and 
said, u I pray, my lord, henceforth smoke here : for is 
it not a shame that you, who are the foundation and 
the prop of your house, should have no place to put 
your head into and smoke? " And St. Betsy led him 
to a chair, and with her own fingers filled him a pipe ; 
and from that time the knight sat in the cedar 
chamber and smoked his weed. 

Saint Phillis. 

St. Phillis was a virgin of noble parentage, but 
withal as simple as any shepherdess of curds-and- 



12 FIRESIDE SAINTS. 

cream. She married a wealthy lord, and had much 
pin-money. But when other ladies wore diamonds 
and pearls, St. Phillis only wore a red and white rose 
in her hair. Yet her pin-money bought the best of 
jewelry in the happy eyes of the poor about her. St. 
Phillis was rewarded. She lived until fourscore, and 
still carried the red and the white rose in her face, 
and left their fragrance in her memory. 

Saint Phcebe. 

St. Phcebe was married early to a wilful, but, with- 
al, a good-hearted husband. He was a merchant, and 
would come home sour and sullen from 'Change. 
Whereupon, after much pondering, St. Phcebe, in her 
patience, set to work, and praying the while, made 
of dyed lamb's-wool, a door-mat. And it chanced 
from that time, that never did the husband touch that 
mat that it didn't clean his temper with his shoes ; and 
he sat down by his Phcebe as mild as the lamb whose 
wool he had trod upon. Thus gentleness may make 
miraculous door-mats ! 

Saint Sally. 

St. Sally, from her childhood, was known for her 
innermost love of truth. It was said of her that her 
heart was in a crystal shrine, and all the world might 
see it. Now, once, when other women denied, or 
strove to hide, their age, St. Sally said, " I am Jive- 
and-thirty I " Whereupon, next birthday, St. Sally's 
husband, at a feast of all their friends, gave her a 



FIRESIDE SAINTS. . 1 3 

necklace of six and thirty opal beads ; and on every 
birthday added a bead, until the beads amounted to 
fourscore and one. And the beads seemed to act as 
a charm ; for St. Sally, wearing the sum of her age 
about her neck, age never appeared in her face. 
Such, in the olden time, was the reward of simplicity 
and truth. 

Saint Becky. 

A very good man was St. Becky's husband, but 
with his heart a little too much in his bottle. Port 
wine — red port wine — was his delight, and his con- 
stant cry was a bee's-wing. Now, as he sat tipsy in 
his arbor, a wasp dropped into his glass ; and the wasp 
was swallowed, stinging the man inwardly. Doctors 
crowded, and with much ado the man was saved. 
Now, St. Becky nursed her husband tenderly to health, 
and upbraided him not. But she said these words, 
and they reformed him : " My dear, take wine, and 
bless your heart with it ; but wine in moderation. 
Else never forget that the bee* s-wing of to-day be- 
comes the wasp' s sting of to-morrow " 

Saint Lily. 

St. Lily was the wife of a poor man, w 7 ho tried to 
support his family, — and the children were many, — 
by writing books. But in those days it was not as easy 
for a man to find a publisher as to say his Paternoster. 
Many were the books that were written by the 
husband of St. Lily ; but to every book St. Lily gave 
at least two babies. However, blithe as the cricket 



14 FIRESIDE SAINTS. 

was the spirit that ruled about the hearth of St. Lily. 
And how she helped her helpmate ! She smiled sun- 
beams into his ink-bottle, and turned his goose-pen to 
the quill of a dove ! She made the paper he wrote 
on as white as her name, and as fragrant as her soul. 
And when folks wondered how St. Lily managed so 
lightly with fortune's troubles, she always answered, 
that she never heeded them, for, " That troubles were 
like babies, a7td only grew the bigger by nursing" 

Saint Fanny. 

St. Fanny was a notable housewife. Her house 
was a temple of neatness. Kings might have dined 
upon her staircase ! Now, her great delight was to 
provide all things comfortable for her husband, a 
hard-working merchant, much abroad, but loving his 
home. Now, one night he returned tired and hungry, 
. and by some mischance there was nothing for supper. 
Shops were shut, and great was the grief of St. Fanny. 
Taking, off a bracelet of seed pearl, she said, "I'd 
give this ten times over for a supper for my hus- 
band" And every pearl straightway became an 
oyster ; and St. Fanny opened, and the husband ate, 
and lo ! in every oyster was a pearl as large as a hazel- 
nut ; and so was St. Fanny made rich for life. 

Saint Jenny. 

St. Jenny was wedded to a very poor man ; they 
had scarcely bread to keep them ; but Jenny was of 
so sweet a temper that even want bore a bright face, 



FIRESIDE SAINTS. 1 5 

and Jenny always smiled. In the worst seasons Jenny 
would spare crumbs for the birds, and sugar for the 
bees. Now, it so happened that an autumn storm 
rent their cot in twenty places apart; when, behold, 
between the joists, from the basement to the roof, there 
was nothing but honey-comb and honey. A little 
fortune for St. Jenny and her husband in honey. 
Now, some said it was the bees, but more declared it 
was the sweet temper of St. Jenny that had filled the 
poor man's house with honey. 

Saint Florence, or Saint Nightingale. 

St. Florence, by her works, had her lips blessed 
with comforting, and her hands touched with healing. 
And she crossed the sea, and built hospitals, and 
solaced, and restored. And so long as English mistle- 
toe gathers beneath it truthful hearts, and English 
holly brightens happy eyes, so long will Englishmen, 
at home or abroad, on land or on the wave, so long — 
in memory of that Eastern Christmas — will they cry, 
" God bless St. Florence I Bless St. Nightingale I " 

Note. — These little sketches, so graceful, genial, and fanciful, appeared in 
Punch's Almanac for 1857. " They are holy little presences these," says Mr. 
Blanchard Jerrold, "with each her special shining virtue to be imitated. Any 
home shall be the better for looking at — for studying them. They were the 
author's last marked success in Punch — that is, the last thing of his which the 
public seized upon and welcomed, acknowledging their author." — Ed. 



1 6 MR. caudle's breakfast talk. 

MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK* 

Chapter I. 

How Mr. Caudle married Miss Prettyinan, and 
how he " nagged" her to Death. 

WHEN Harry Prettyman saw the very superb 
funeral of Mrs. Caudle, — Prettyman attended 
as mourner, and was particularly jolly in the coach, — 
he observed that the disconsolate widower showed 
that, above all men, he knew how to make the best of 
a bad bargain. The remark, as the dear deceased 
would have said, was unmanly, brutal, but quite like 
that Prettyman. The same scoffer, when Caudle 
declared " he should never cease to weep," replied, 
" he was very sorry to hear it ; for it must raise the 
price of onions." It was not enough to help to break 
the heart of a wife ; no, the savage must joke over its 
precious pieces. 

The funeral, we repeat, was remarkably handsome : 
in Prettyman's words, nothing could be more satisfac- 
tory. Caudle spoke of a monument. Whereupon 
Prettyman suggested " Death gathering a nettle." 
Caudle — the act did equal honor to his brain and 
his bosom — rejected it. 

Mr. Caudle, attended by many of his friends, re- 
turned to his widowed home in tolerable spirits. 

* This " Breakfast Talk," which is a fit and characteristic sequel to "Mrs. 
Caudle's Curtain Lectures," will please the women, who have always looked 
upon Mrs. Caudle as a witty libel upon the sex. "Mr. Caudle's Breakfast 
Talk " was originally published m ' ' Punch's Almanac " for 1846. — Ed. 



MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 1 7 

Prettyman said, jocosely poking his two fingers in 
Caudle's ribs, that in a week he'd look " quite a 
tulip." Caudle merely replied — he could hardly 
hope it. 

Prett}' man's mirth, however, communicated itself 
to the company; and in a very little time the meeting 
took the air of a very pleasant party. Somehow, Miss 
Prettyman presided at the tea-table. There was in 
her manner a charming mixture of grace, dignity, and 
confidence — a beautiful black swan. Prettyman, by 
the way, whispered to a friend, that there was just 
this difference between Mrs. Caudle and his sister — 
" Mrs. Caudle was a great goose, whereas Sarah was 
a little duck." We will not swear that Caudle did 
not overhear the words ; for, as he resignedly stirred 
his tea, he looked at the lady at the head of the table, 
smiled, and sighed. 

It was odd ; but women are so apt ! Miss Pretty- 
man seemed as familiar with Caudle's silver tea-pot 
as with her own silver thimble. With a smile upon 
her face — like the butter on the muffins — she handed 
Caudle his tea-cup. Caudle would, now and then, 
abstractedly cast his eyes above the mantel-piece. 
There was Mrs. Caudle's portrait. Whereupon Miss 
Prettyman w T ould say, "You must take comfort, Mr. 
Caudle, indeed you must." At length Mr. Caudle 
replied, " I will, Miss Prettyman." 

What then passed through Caudle's brain we know 
not ; but this we know : in a twelvemonth and a 
week from that day, Sarah Prettyman was Caudle's 
second wife. Mrs. Caudle, number two. Poor 
thing ! 



MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 



Chapter II. 

How Mr. Caudle begins to show " off the Fiend 
that's iiz him* 99 

" It is rather extraordinary, Mrs. Caudle, that we 
have now been married four weeks, — I don't exactly 
see what you have to sigh about, — and yet you can't 
make me a proper cup of tea. However, I don't 
know how I should expect it. There never was but 
one woman who could make tea to my taste, and she 
is now in Heaven. Now, Mrs. Caudle, let me hear 
no crying. I'm not one of the people to be melted by 
the tears of a woman ; for you can all cry — all of you 
— at a minute's notice. The water's always laid on, 
and down it comes if a man only holds up his finger. 

" Tou didn't think I could be so brutal? That's 
it. Let a man only speak, and he's brutal. It's a 
woman's first duty to make a decent cup of tea. 
What do you think I married you for? It's all very 
well with your tambour-work and such trumpery. 
You can make butterflies on kettle-holders ; but can 
you make a pudding, ma'am ? I'll be bound not. 

" Of course, as usual ; you've given me the corner- 
roll, because you know I hate a corner-roll. I did 
think you must have seen that. I did hope I should 
not be obliged to speak on so paltry a subject — but 
it's no use to hope to be mild with you. I see that's 
hopeless. 

" And what a herring ! And you call it a bloater, 
I suppose ? Ha ! there was a woman who had au 



MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 1 9 

eye for a bloater, but — sainted creature ! — she's here 
no longer. You wish she was? O, I understand 
that. I'm sure, if anybody should wish her back, it's 
— but she was too good for me. 4 When I'm gone, 
Caudle,' she used to say, 6 then you'll know the 
wife I was to you.' And now I do know it. 

" Here's the eggs boiled to a stone again ! Do you 
think, Mrs. Caudle, I'm a canary-bird, to be fed upon 
hard eggs ? Don't tell me about the servant. A wife 
is answerable to her husband for her servants. It's 
her business to hire proper people : if she doesn't, she's 
not fit to be a wife. I find the money, Mrs. Caudle, 
and I expect you to find the cookery. 

" There you are with your pocket-handkerchief 
again ; the old flag of truce ; but it doesn't trick me. 
A fretty ho?ieymoon ? Honeymoon ? nonsense ! Peo- 
ple can't have two honeymoons in their lives. There 
are feelings — I find it now — that we can't have 
twice in our existence. There's no making honey a 
second time. 

64 No ; I think I've put up with your neglect long 
enough : and there's nothing like beginning as we 
intend to go on. Therefore, Mrs. Caudle, if my tea 
isn't made a little more to my liking to-morrow — and 
if you insult me with a herring like that — and boil 
my eggs that you might fire 'em out of guns — why, 
perhaps, Mrs. Caudle, you may see a man in a 
passion. It takes a good deal to rouse me, but when 
I am up — I say, when I am up — that's all. 

"Where did I put my gloves? You don't know? 
Of course not : you know nothing." 



20 MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 



Chapter III. 

Showing how Mr. Cazcdle could go out and enjoy 
himself. 

" By the by, Sarah, just put half a dozen shirts, and 
all that sort of thing, in my portmanteau. I'm going — 
There you are with your black looks again ! I can 
never go anywhere, just a little to enjoy myself, but 
you look like thunder. What ! I might sometimes 
take you out? Nonsense! women — that is, women 
when they're married — are best at home. What can 
they want to go out for? It's quite enough for them 
to go out to hunt for husbands ; when they've caught 
'em, let 'em sit at home, and sing with the kettle 
and the cat ; their best place is their fireside. 

" Half a dozen shirts, I say, and my shaving tackle. 
Do you hear me, Mrs. Caudle ? Perhaps when you've 
done counting the legs of that fly on the ceiling, you'll 
attend to me. Eh? I think you never want to go 
out? Quite the contrary ; it's my belief you'd always 
be out. If you wanted to go about like a June fly, 
why did you marry? 

" I should have told you where I was going ; but 
as you've shown your temper, I won't tell you a syl- 
lable. No ; nor I shan't tell you whom I am going 
with, or when I shall be back. When you see me, 
then you may expect me ; and not before. And mind 
all the buttons are on my shirts — that's all. 

" It's miserable always being left by yourself I 
Yourself, indeed ! Arn't there books in the house? 



MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 21 

There's capital company on the shelves if you'd only 
get acquainted with them. I'm sure you'd be none 
the worse for 'em. Besides, there's the cookery book : 
read that. A wife can't study anything better. 

" The fact is, Mrs. Caudle, I've indulged you too 
much. I've made a fool of you. JVb, I haven't? 
Well, then, who has? If I haven't, somebody has, 
it's plain. Going out, indeed ! I've no opinion of any 
woman who wants to go out at all. Women were 
never intended to go out ; only the fact is, we've let 
you have your own way. Ha ! they manage these 
matters much better in the East. 

;c I'm generally a pretty quiet man, Mrs. Caudle, 
and you know it. Nevertheless, I have a little of the 
lion in^ne ; just a little. Don't rouse it, that's all. 

" There you are, with the pocket-handkerchief 
again. Always hoisting that signal of distress. No, 
no ; I'm not made of sugar, like a twelfth-cake image ; 
I'm not to be melted with tears : let them be as 
many and as hot as they will. Besides, as I say, you 
can all do it when you like — every mother's soul of 
you. But I'm not to be washed off my legs by any 
river of the sort. 

"All I say to you is, stay at home. You've a 
needle and thread, haven't you? and I'll be sworn for 
it, plenty of things to make or to mend. And if 
you haven't, cut holes, and sew 'em up again. 

" Now, see when I come home that my portman- 
teau's ready. What's o'clock? You %v ant Jive min- 
utes to ? No doubt : the old story ; you're al- 
ways wanting something." 



22 MR. CAUDLE S BREAKFAST TALK. 



Chapter IV. 

Showing- how Caudle, having lost Money at Cards, 
deterinines to abridge the House Expenses* 

" I don't know how it is, my dear ; but when I re- 
member there's only you and myself — just two of us, 
and I eat and drink next to nothing — and when I see 
what other people do with half our money, I do think 
you might be a little more careful. I'm sure I spend 
no money on myself — none. Nobody can be more 
watchful of every sixpence ; but, of course, a man can 
save but little when he knows, or, that is, when he 
fears he knows, that everything's going to w^aste at 
home. Besides, it's a woman's place — particularly 
a woman's place — to save. Women were designed 
for it. Economy is one of the noblest virtues bound 
up with matrimony. There can be very little real 
love, Mrs. Caudle, where economy's neglected. A 
woman can't truly care for a man's heart, unless she 
has an equal regard for his pocket : the things go to- 
gether, and always did from the first. 

" No, Mrs. Caudle, I did not lose at my whist 
club last night, that is, only next to nothing ; in 
other words, nothing to speak of. Now, that's like 
your sex. You always set about hunting for some 
foolish, shabby motive for whatever your husbands 
complain about. Because I lose at cards, I donH 
want to get the money back out of your cupboard. 
No : I want to save money, that, should I be taken 
from you — and life at all times is uncertain, Mrs. 



MR. CAUDLE S BREAKFAST TALK, 23 

Candle — you might be left snug and comfortable — 
that's my object. But I never knew any woman yet 
— except one, rest her sainted soul! — who had the 
mind or the generosity to allow a truly noble motive 
to what her husband should do, that is, if it went 
against herself. You can't help it, poor things ! — 
nevertheless, when a man is depriving himself of 
every little enjoyment that he may lay by something 
for a rainy day, it is hard — a little hard, I think — to 
have a woman spend what you do in housekeeping. 

" Now, Mrs. Caudle, be rational ; and, for the thou- 
sandth time, let me beg of you not to cry. You only 
waste your trouble and your tears. Both are thrown 
away upon me. I'm not one of the people, I tell you 
again, to be melted with a little soft water. My ex- 
penses, that is, your expenses, are dreadful. Your 
grocer's bill — and when I never taste sugar in my 
tea — is preposterous ; enough to ruin a man often 
thousand a year. What ? / take sugar in my grog, 
and so do my friends. Scarcely any — nothing to 
speak of; not worth naming. 

" And then look at your butcher for the last fort- 
night. Well? I know I won't eat cold joints. I 
had enough of them with my first — that is, I can't 
bear 'em. Besides, with half the money you have, a 
cold joint is an insult to any man. 

" And finally, Mrs. Caudle, — for you know I hate 
this talk at breakfast ; it's a meal of all others I like to 
enjoy when I can, — finally, I have made a calculation, 
and in the next month, come what will, your cup- 
board must do with ten pounds less. It's for your 
good, I tell you, when I'm gone, and ten pounds I 
must have of you." 



24 MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 



Chapter V. 

Showing Iiow Caudle came Home very late^ and very 
vinous : he complains of Wa?zt of Sympathy. 

" The old story, Mrs. Caudle ! Sulky again ! But 
so it is with women of no intellect ; they can never 
properly sympathize with a man. You make the tea 
as if you were making poison, and all because I kept 
you up just a little last night. Ha ! I only wish 
you had half what T have upon my mind. What ! 
You wouldn't have half what I had in my head? 
Indeed I know what you mean ; but I only wish you 
had. You'd have a little more sympathy for what I 
have to go through ; as I say, you don't know what's 
in my mind. Women, who have to sit quietly bask- 
ing before the fire all day, doing nothing whatever, 
except, perhaps, a little sewing — women, in their snug 
homes, know nothing of what their husbands have to 
go through in the world ; slaving and wearing, as I 
may say, their very souls out. Ha ! I only wish I'd 
been a woman. O, you needn't sigh, Mrs. Caudle ; 
you've all the best of it from the beginning. 

" For how can you tell, when your husband is doing 
all he can to seem happy and delighted at home. 
What! You never saw him in such a state! You 
might, if you'd eyes like any other woman. I sav, 
how can you tell at the very time he's full — running 
over, I may say, with smiles, and affability, and 
good temper — how can you tell that his brain isn't 
being torn into bits, and all to make his wife happy 



MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 25 

and comfortable at her own fireside? I must say it ; 
I only wish you'd my anxieties, sometimes ; just for 
half a day, that's all ; you'd have more sympathy, 
Mrs. Caudle ; a little more sympathy. There you go 
on again, — with your woman's argument. If I have 
so much on my mind, I needn't stay out so late I 
How can you possibly tell what it is that detains me? 
If I chose, like some men, to tell my wife everything, 
and so worry you and make you unhappy with all 
sorts of anxieties, — then, indeed, I dare say I might 
have a little more tenderness from you. But, precisely 
because I wish to keep you in clover — precisely be- 
cause I won't let you be worried by worldly matters 
— you think I've nothing to contend with. Ha ! Mrs. 
Caudle — I can't help saying it — if you only knew 
what was on my mind ! 

" What do you know what wine will do, or won't 
do? Besides, I'd taken but a poor half pint of the 
very weakest sherry last night! Only half a pint. 
But when I'm harassed you ought to know how a lit- 
tle tells upon me. I was not intoxicated, Mrs. Cau- 
dle ; I was merely intensely anxious. And if you'd 
any sympathy you'd known it. Yes, a woman with 
sympathy would have felt for me ; would have turned 
a face upon me beaming with love and comfort— and 
not have been all night making up looks of thunder to 
come to breakfast with. 

" I'm going out, now, and I shall take the key ; so 
don't sit up again. I promised to sup at Doubleday's 
to-night ; and you don't know what's on my mind." 



2 6 MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 



Chapter VI. 

Showing' how Caudle brought home some " Good 
Fellozvs " to spend the Evening, and found Mrs, 
Caudle with some Female Frieitds at Tea. 

" I didn't choose to say anything to you last night, 
Mrs. Caudle — no : you needn't tell me that; I know 
I didn't open my lips; don't I say so, woman? — I 
didn't speak, because, indeed, I was too tired. But I 
do think it hard that I can't leave the house for a few 
days but I must find it swarming with petticoats 
when I come back. Your friends, as you call 'em ! 
as if women could ever be friends ! It's rather hard, 
with what I'm charged for housekeeping, that I must 
find the place like a fair. Tou did7t't expect me 
home till to-morrow? O, no ! Else I should have 
found you alone, ana as mute as a mouse ; and not a 
word would you have said to me about the pack of 
gossips you'd had about you ! 

" Now, Mrs. Caudle, for the future just remember 
one thing. Never think to expect me ; for you shall 
never know the exact time when I shall come home. 
No: I shall always take you, by surprise; as every 
man who'd know what his wife's about should do. 

" Well, I think I may guess now where the house- 
keeping money goes to ! Now I can account for the 
grocer's bills — and I can't tell what other bills be- 
sides — when I see the people you have to eat me up. 
And then when 1 bring home a few friends that I find 
aboard the steamboat — good fellows, I know, every 



MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 27 

one of 'em ; though I never saw them before — when 
I come home, I find my house full of silks and satins 
— a mountain of bonnets on my bed— -and nothing 
fit for Christians to sit down to. And after such con- 
duct you'll expect me to keep my temper! Yes: 
you'll open your eyes and affect to stare at me, if I 
only swear the smallest in the world — when if you'd 
married some men, Mrs. Caudle, the house wouldn't 
have held you ! Now, I should like to know what 
my friends thought of me last night — what they 
thought of you? Why, of course they looked upon 
me as a fool for putting up with your cpnduct as 
quietly as I did; whilst for you, but— I'll respect 
your feelings — I won't say what they must have 
thought of you. 

" For an hour and a half, at least, did we wait for 
supper — if supper, indeed, you could call it; for I 
blushed at everything upon the table. An hour and 
a half. There was nothing in the house; every- 
thing was to begot? Why, that's what I complain of, 
woman. That's the very fault. I bring home a few 
friends to supper, and there's nothing in the house. 
But I come home, and I find you with I don't know 
what cotton-box acquaintances, and the house smell- 
ing of toast and tea-cake enough to ruin one. 

" Now, Mrs. Caudle, if we wish to continue happy 
together, understand that I won't have it. If I can't 
give a little supper to friends at my own home, I'd 
better give up housekeeping altogether. 

" Where's my hat and gloves? I dine out to-day." 



MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 



Chapter VII. 

Showing how Caudle brought home a Newfoundland 
Dog, insisting that " The poor Animal can't add 
to the Expense." 

" O, no ! I know what the objection is, Mrs. Caudle. 
It isn't that the poor faithful animal will add to the 
butcher's bill — not a bit of it. No: it is only be- 
cause the creature is fond of me, that you object to it. 
'Tis only because of its love for its master — and it's 
well I can get somebody about the house that does 
love me — that you make an excuse of the expense. 
You can keep your canary-bird — that's rattling away 
all day like a whistle in hysterics — and I never com- 
plain of the expense of that. You can keep your half 
a dozen gold-fish too, and do I ever murmur at what 
they cost? I think not. And yet when I bring home 
a dog — a fine fellow as high as the table — instead 
of admiring the noble animal as any other wife would 
do, you begin to talk about what it will eat ! But 
that's like you, Mrs. Caudle ; that's the rock we've 
always split upon. You never had any sympathy — 
not an atom. True marriage ought to melt two 
hearts into one piece. Ours — I am sorry to say it — 
have only been tacked together. There was, indeed, 
a woman — but, sainted darling! — why should I 
name her? 

U I repeat it; if you thought of me as you ought, 
you'd be delighted with the animal. A true wife 
would love even .a crocodile or a boa-constrictor, if 



MR. CAUDLI^S BREAKFAST TALK. 29 

her husband brought it home. But my wife's like no 
other woman — never was. You don't object to the 
dog if I chain it up? I think, Mrs. Caudle, you 
ought to know my principles a little better by this 
time. No, madam ; liberty — though it's quite above 
the female intellect to understand its beautiful essence 
— but liberty I wouldn't deny even to a dog. The 
poor beast shall have the run of the house all day, 
and - — noble fellow — sleep at my bed-room door all 
night. I'll have somebody near me that loves me — 
I'm determined ! 

a What are you whimpering about? The beast 
%v ill kill your cat? Perhaps he may ; and what if he 
does? Cats are plenty enough, I suppose. I'm sure 
there's more in my house than catch mice ; I know 
that. Not that I see the noble fellow need kill her 
unless you choose. What do I mean? Mean! Why, 
lock her up in the cellar, or cupboard, or coal-hole. 
He won't kill her, if he can't get at her. I'll 
answer for him. Eh? And yet I talk of liberty? 
To be sure I do. But there's your great defect again, 
Mrs. Caudle ; you've no sympathy — none, or you'd 
know what I mean directly. Liberty for dogs is one 
thing ; liberty for cats is another. There's what I 
call a moral distinction entirely." 



30 MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 



• Chapter VIII. 

Showing how Caudle thought " that Bill" settled 
a lo?ig Time ago. 

" If, now, I were to leave you, Mrs. Caudle, — if I 
were to do what I really ought to do as a husband, — 
break up the establishment and go myself into cham- 
bers, just giving you enough to live upon — of course 
the world — the world that never can judge between 
man and wife, but always will poke its nose in be- 
tween 'em whenever they separate — the world, I've 
no doubt, would begin to abuse me. What's the 
matte?'? Matter enough, I think ! I'm called out, 
from my breakfast too, and this, Mrs. Caudle, this 
little bit of paper, put into my hand. What, have 
you the face to ask, Mrs. Caudle ? What of it? Don't 
I know I owe it? Why, of course not ! I could have 
laid my life that that bill was paid long ago ! I could 
have sworn it ! How was it to be paid? You ask 
that! Why, with money, of course. But I never 
gave you the money? Nonsense! You're enough to 
drive a man mad, Mrs. Caudle. I must have given 
you the money ; of course I must. Else where can 
all the money go to? When did I give it? Well, 
if you are not the most outrageous, perplexing woman ! 
When did I give it, indeed ! As if, with what I have 
on my mind, I can exactly recollect the day, and the 
hour, and the place when I gave you the money for 
that bill ! I, who am always giving you money for 
bills. Do you think I'm a calculating machine, Mrs, 



MR. CAUDLES BREAKFAST TALK. 3T 

Caudle, — to remember everything, and with what I 
have in my head ? All I know is — and that's enough 
for any reasonable man — all I know is, I must have 
given you the money. The bill's been delivered a 
month ago, the man told me ; and you're not the 
woman, I know, to let me remain quiet for % a bill so 
long. No, indeed ; for if there's anything in the 
world gives you pleasure, it is continually coming to 
my pocket. And you must think I've a gold mine 
there ; to dip as you do into it. 

" There you are ! crying again ! That's the mean 
advantage you women always try to take of your hus- 
bands. What! You wish Td common feelings, and 
you wish you were in your grave? Of course. A 
man can't open his mouth, can't make the slightest re- 
monstrance, when a woman lets money matters go all 
wrong, but he wants feelings. Ha ! He'd better want 
a few feelings than want money. And I'm sure, Mrs. 
Caudle, that's your opinion, if you spoke the truth. 
And then again, you must always be scratching your 
grave up before me ! And only because I just spoke 
about a bill. Of course, you've paid away the money 
for something else — some new gowns, perhaps — 
and forgot it. 

" However, Mrs. Caudle, it is not worth quarrelling 
about — certainly not. Besides, I hate quarrelling. 
However, this I have to say : as I'm convinced that 
I've given you the money for the bill, I'm not going to 
pay it a second time. You must save it out of some- 
thing else. What are you to save it out of P Any- 
thing : cat's-meat and canary-seed! — but I don't pay 
twice." 



33 MR. CAUDLE S BREAKFAST TALK. 

Chapter IX. 

Showing how Mr. Caudle objected to Mrs. Cau- 
dles jFe??iale Friend, a Visitor for a Month. 



" When a husband comes home to what he ex- 
pects to find a comfortable house, it is a little — I say 
a little annoying for him — to break his shins over a 
heap of portmanteaus in the hall, and find, too, he's 
saddled with a visitor, — some stupid Miss or the 
other, with all her boarding-school starch about her. 
Eh — what? Ton told me you'd invited dear Miss 
Loveday? You took an advantage of me, then, 
and told me when I was asleep. I don't recollect it. 
And now I shall be stunned to death by her for three 
months — for of course she plays the piano; and I 
shouldn't wonder if she's brought a guitar besides 
with her. For three precious months ! What ! She's 
only invited for one month? Humph! Then she'll 
stay three, of course : they always do. 

" Nice breakfasts I shall have now — for she'll not 
always stay in her own room ; she won't always be 
tired travelling. Nice breakfasts I'm doomed to ! 
What ! How will the dear soul hurt me? O, in the 
gentlest way possible — I know. She'll always be 
reading the play-house advertisements in the paper, 
and always be wanting to go to the opera, or concert, 
or fireworks, or some show of that sort. I know the 
sideway talk of such girls very well. But understand, 
Mrs. Caudle, I'm not hampered with her. As you 
say she was your school-fellow once — I suppose I 



MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 



33 



shall have all Minerva House here in their turn 

you alone must be troubled with her. I shall behave 
as civil as I can — but don't expect that I'll take her 
out, or spend money upon her; that's your affair, 
not mine. 

" No, I don't forget when I'd my three friends here 
all together : not at all ; I was too happy ever to for- 
get it. Jack Stokes — noble fellow ! What a song 
he sang, and what punch he made : Tom Ryder — the 
best fellow he at whist and a chorus : and Sam Slab, 
who gave such a licking to the coal-heaver. Ha ! 
they were something like people to have in one's 
house. What ! Ton never cojnplained of them*and 
why can't you have a friend? That's quite a differ- 
ent thing. Besides, as I say, women never have 
friendship one among another— they don't know 
what it means. No, indeed ; I don't think friendship's 
a thing of cigars and brandy and water — not but 
what all these are a very pretty mixture. They were 
something like nights we had. Ton never got to sleep 
till four while my friends were here? What's that 
to do with it? Is that any reason you should bring a 
lot of visitors to my house who can't say " bo " to a 
goose? And when you know, too, how I like to 
enjoy the comfort of my friends alone ! How I hate 
that we should have anybody to disturb us ! And if 
you loved me really, you'd hate it too — but it's a 
bad business to have all the love on one side : I feel 
that." 



34 mr. caudle's breakfast talk. 



Chapter X. 

Showing Mr. Caudle again perplexed with Do- 
mestic Finance. 

" Is it not a most extraordinary thing, that I can't 
sit clown to enjoy a bit of breakfast, but under ■ my 
nose there's a paper for taxes ? It's just been left, 
and if s Sarah's fault? * No ! — it's your fault, Mrs. 
Caudle : you know that such things at such a time 
always affect my appetite, and it's my belief that you 
have 'em put there to save your cupboard. Taxes — 
taxes! What! You don't pay 'em? No: but 
what's quite as bad, you are always plaguing me 
about them. I can't help saying it, Mrs. Caudle, but 
what a much nicer wife you'd be, if there was no 
money ! 

" But I know it : when a woman likes to be ex- 
travagant, let a man do what he will, he's no match 
for her. I see that every day. Only yesterday I saw 
an old coat of mine — a very good coat too — on old 
Digges. Ha ! my dear first wife used to turn my 
left-off clothes into beautiful mugs. But then, to be 
sure, she had some respect for my exertions. She 
used to calculate how and where the money came 
from. But — I must say it — I've no confidence in 
what's spent here. 

" No, indeed, Airs. Caudle. I'm not a cruel, unjust 
man — nor have I anything of the tyrant about me, — 
not a bit. But when women happen to be a little 
younger than their husbands — and that — I knew it, 



MR. CAUDLE S BREAKFAST TALK. 35 

to be sure — was your fault when I married you — 
they are apt to indulge in expenses; and — I must 
say it — that last hosier's bill that came in I don't at 
all understand. I'm sure by the socks that's down for 
me, anybody would think I was a centipede. Well, 
I can't help sometimes suspecting — I should be glad 
if I could be disabused — but I can't help thinking, 
now and then, that what I've paid for hosiery you've 
worn in velvet and silk. 

" If I could only be sure of this, I should know very 
well how to act. Then my course would be plain 
enough. What? If Pm not sure, why do I accuse 
you? O, there can be nothing lost by that. For if 
a woman is blamed when she doesn't deserve it, she's 
sure some time or other to escape when she does ; 
so there's nothing thrown away, blame her when 
you will." 

With this liberal axiom Caudle took his hat, ob- 
serving to his weeping wife that he " might be home 
to dinner, and he might not." 



Chapter XI. 

Shoxving how Mr. Caudle thought something, 
"very odd" 

"Anything particular, my dear, in the paper — 
I mean anything in the military way? What do I 
mean? O, nothing. Ha, ha! A little joke of 
mine — j us t a little joke. What do you think of the 
cavalry regiment? What am I driving at? Noth- 



36 MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 

ing at all. I thought you might have seen 'em. 
They go by the window, you know, twice a day. 
What of it? Nothing, to be sure. Only it is odd — 
I must say it is odd, that one of 'em — a young fel- 
low with sandy mustachios — always turns his head 
towards this house. I say it's odd — slightly odd. 
Now, you can't say he's looking for Miss Loveday. 
She's gone — thank Heaven ! at last. I waited till 
she went before I spoke ; because I know how women 
will stand by one another. 

"Well, Miss Loveday is gone — do you hear me, 
Mrs. Caudle ? — and still that fellow with the sandy 
mustachios looks towards this house. Now, I think 
that's something very odd. And I should like to 
know what he's looking for ? What ! Fd better 
ask him? I shall take my own opinion as to that, 
Mrs. Caudle ; but allow me to say this much — that 
— ha ! there was a woman — who never, never 
caused me the finger ache. That I had never lost 
that woman ! Eh? You wish I never had? Ha! 
She never gave herself airs about her beauty. What ! 
She couldn't? Mrs. Caudle, I don't wish to say a 
harsh thing of you — far from it. But permit me, in 
all good temper, to say, that you are not fit to stir the 
tea of that blessed woman. She never looked about 
her — never stared at anybody but her own husband 
when she went out. She never thought there was 
another such in the world. But I deserved to lose 
her — I didn't think enough of her then. 

" If any soldier had dared to look twice at any 
house she was in, she'd have shown what she felt as 
a wife, and closed every shutter. But she did know 
heir duty — I wish other people did." 



MR. CAUDLE'S BREAKFAST TALK. 37 

Upon this, the second Mrs. Caudle — poor ill-used 
soul! — simply remarked that " she knew he was a 
brute," and left him with his own bad thoughts, and 
his own bohea. 

Chapter XII. 
Mr. Caudle's Defence of his Tyranny. 

Mr. Caudle, ere he left this world, had much 
more " Breakfast Talk" with his unfortunate wife ; but 
it is believed that we have given the principal heads 
of his discourses ; for his topics were like the church 
bells — they u nearly always rang the same morning 
peal." To the reader who believed in the declaration 
of the first Mrs. Caudle that her husband " was really 
an aggravating man," with her prophecy that " the 
world would at last know him as well as she did," 
the conduct of this individual towards the insnared 
and unfortunate Miss Pretty man, may not afford sur- 
prise. Caudle himself, however, set up an ingenious 
if not a credible defence. Prettyman, his brother- 
in-law, had now and then remonstrated with him. 
"I don't mean it, — upon my life, I mean nothing. 
I'm very fond of your sister — extremely fond ; it's 
only a habit, my ill-treatment — nothing but a habit." 

" A habit ! " cried Prettyman ; " why, that's what 
we complain of! That's what we want you to get 
rid of." 

" Impossible, my dear boy — quite impossible. 
Having lived twenty years with the late Mrs. Caudle, 
though I believed her to be a sainted woman notwith- 



38 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

standing — how was it to be expected that I shouldn't 
make a natural use of my liberty ? You don't suppose 
I was going to suffer Mrs. Caudle the second to be 
only another Mrs. Caudle the first — so, you see, I 
bent the bar the other way." 

fci And this is your defence," cried Pretty man. 

" My excellent friend," said Caudle, " bad temper's 
catching. Therefore, let folks beware how they 
come together. If I've been a little bit of a tyrant in 
my second marriage, 'tis only because I was a slave 
in the first ; and all tyrants, my dear boy, are only 
slaves turned inside out." 

" I can make nothing of that figure," said Pretty- 
man, " but this : that in most marriages there are 
faults on both sides." 

" Exactly so," answered Caudle, " and both I've 
known." 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

ANTIQUITY hath abundance of charity — she 
pleadeth for the mighty and the mean, the 
magnanimous and the contemptible. Touched by 
her influence, we gaze with reverence at the great 
pyramid, and can look with interest at a gibbet — we 
venerate the dust of a sage, and linger even by the 
mummy of a lawyer. Placed in her circle, her host 
of shadows passing before us, we not only bow to 
poets and philosophers, but can nod and give a " good 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 39 

den " to usurers and pickpockets. The veriest rascal, 
seen through the haze of centuries, becomes pictur- 
esque. Who, for example, can see Guido Fawkes 
as he really moved and lived? Who can place be- 
fore himself the veritable Claude du Val ? The vulgar, 
cold-blooded conspirator is a. fearful conjuration of 
romance, the highwayman a sprightly ill-used gentle- 
man — the dark lantern of the fanatic is lighted with 
a fiery star, the fiddle of the cutpurse sounds in truth 
a most taking instrument. And why this delusion — 
why this charity towards the long departed? Is it 
not that we feel they are no longer partakers of our 
state of existence, but that they form a portion of that 
mystery, to the attainment of which life is but the 
preface ? Is our homage that of ignorance towards 
intelligence? Is it, that, feeling a tree of knowledge 
springs alike through every coffin, our prejudices as 
to the peculiar earth are lost in speculation on the 
fruit? It may, we feel, be apples of Paradise — it 
may be apples of the Dead Sea ; but whatever the 
produce, it can only grow from a dead man, and thus 
the corpse of the poorest slave has higher wisdom 
than a breathing Solomon. This, however, is more 
serious — if you will, more dull — than we intended. 
Only desirous of proving hovv time can plead for even 
antiquity, how evil may be hallowed by the conse- 
crated garments of years, we break off our sermon. 
This we will say : such lovers are we of the real an- 
tique, that we would not destroy a single twig from a 
upas-tree, if the said tree had flourished for centuries 
— no, let pestilence drop from the branches, if the 
branches were really and truly old. 



40 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

With such benevolent feelings have we many a 
time gazed at the mansion of Messieurs Cat and 
Condor — yes, with no less amiable emotion have we 
beheld their " Old House in the City." We never 
asked our friends, but have little doubt that the walls 
were built of the first bricks imported by the Earl of 
Arundel — to our eyes more valuable than the bricks 
of Babylon — writ with far deeper, far more recondite 
mysteries. Many a time, our back supported by an 
opposite door, with upturned looks and folded arms, 
have we contemplated the external features of that 
" Old House." Yet ere we narrate our wayward 
musings, it is right we give precedence to the opin- 
ions of " sage, grave men," of " great ones of the 
city." We will inflict on the reader but two or three 
examples. 

" Pray, Sir (I am strange to business), what may 
be the character of the firm of Messrs. Cat and Con- 
dor?" This question has a thousand times been put 
by a thousand different querists : the answer has ever 
been, " An Old House in the City." Such are the 
words, but conveyed in no less than a thousand differ- 
ent tones : some replying in a note of explosive sur- 
prise, some with a pitying sneer at the interrogator, 
some with a chuckle at his boorish ignorance, some 
with deep solemnity, taking especial care to dwell 
upon the " Old." 

Having produced the gravest testimony as to the an- 
tiquity of the house, we may now venture to add our 
evidence to that of serious, matter-of-fact witnesses. 
We have in many a reverie read the walls of the house 
— we have dived into their mysteries — we have de- 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 41 

ciphered their hierographs, and, rapt by our discov- 
eries, we have lost sight of the bricks ; as, in reading 
Homer or Shakespeare, we are wholly oblivious of 
the printer and the papermaker. Thus our " House " 
has at times seemed to us built up of human bones, a 
mansion composed of the spoils of the churchyard. 
We have seen the pithless joints of the old and the 
young — we have beheld the skull of the widow and 
the orphan cemented in one compact mass — and still 
the walls grew higher and higher, as new materials 
fell into the hands of the builders — and every bone 
had its legend, every skull its curious history. 

Anthony Cat — merry, simple-minded man — 
whilst seated in his leather-bottomed chair, conning 
his daily ten hours'- task, never dreamed of out- 
of-door opinions. He knew the walls of the old 
house were in good condition, for they had been sur- 
veyed ; but for any types or texts to be found in them, 
he no more thought of such superstition than the fly 
in a painted paper cage thinks of the daubing of its 
prison. Anthony Cat professed himself a Christian, 
and proved himself a man of business. For ourselves, 
we care not so much for professions as for deeds ; 
therefore, waving what Anthony said, we may state 
what he seemed — for in mind he may have been an 
infidel, but in practice he was (in pounds, shillings, 
and pence) a true believer. Anthony owed his first 
advance in life to his humanity. In the first Ameri- 
can war, though he only held a situation partaking 
of the errand boy and the junior clerk, he was at 
once a philanthropist and an admirer of his master's 
daughter. Being on principle averse to the war, he 



42 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

conceived that, by lessening the resources of his 
country, he might best accelerate the advent of peace 
— to which end, whenever despatched for stamped 
sheets, he six times out of ten supplied the office from 
his own garret, putting the purchase-money in his own 
pocket. How, it will be asked, was the cheat effected ? 
By the unassisted genius of the simple Anthony, who, 
to while away the dreariness of his lesiure, would cut 
the stamps from old, extinct bonds, and with the most 
praiseworthy dexterity, with a nice ingenuity worthy 
a Chinese, would let them into plain parchment. 
" This was the way to thrive ; " and Anthony had 
the double satisfaction of assisting the cause of national 
peace and individual profit. This is a truth, a truth 
without one thread of fiction. In time Anthony be- 
came the second clerk — still his heart grew bigger, 
still his purse dilated. However, a proposal for his 
fair young mistress was met by the indignation of her 
father, and Anthony was about to be discarded, when 
an accidental discovery of a false stamp procured him 
another interesting interview with his master. The 
old gentleman was full of virtuous indignation, and 
talked of hanging. Anthony fell upon his knees, and, 
to the horror of the elderly lawyer, confessed a long 
catalogue of forgeries ; nay, more, avowed himself 
ready to publish to the world the name of every client 
whose property had been placed in jeopardy by a 
spurious stamp. Of course the master gave quills, 
ink, and paper to the penitent for the purpose of jus- 
tice? Not so; the lawyer was a discreet man — 
were the iniquity of his clerk made known, his busi- 
ness, his connection was gone ! Anthony rightly in- 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 43 

terpreted the silence of his master, and again and 
again proposed to make a ;; clean breast." The good 
man got up a visible shudder at what he termed the 
consequences of a prosecution — he could not see an 
old, though worthless servant hanged ! Will it be be- 
lieved by the modest reader? The instant Anthony 
was assured that his master would not consign him 
to the gallows, he again prayed that he might take 
his daughter to the church. The master paused at 
the request ; but at length, wisely thinking that the 
best way to stop the mouth of his clerk would be to 
give him a wife, he consented to the match. This 
auspicious beginning was followed by u thick-com- 
ing " successes, and in the course of a few years, be- 
hold Anthony Cat partner of u An Old House in the 
City." He looked worthy of his prosperity — his face 
was ever in a glow of satisfaction, his voice rung 
like glass, and he would rub his hands with an air 
that told you they were as pure as his own pounce. 
And yet no man had a sterner eye to the " inevitable 
decencies " of life. Though he was outwardly smil- 
ing, meek, and gracious, he had in his way of busi- 
ness a heart more than Roman. Little knew the} 7 of 
the interior of Anthony Cat who judged him by his 
short laugh, his venerable jest, or his one ballad at 
the club — nay, they who paused at his Hoxton Villa, 
garnished with potted myrtles and geraniums, and 
saw the owner pacing his lawn W'ith a pink 'twixt 
his fingers brushing his nose, did him wrong if they 
confounded him with the same Cat setting a suit in 
his " Old House in the City," or following it out at 
Westminster. 



44 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

Augustus Condor, the second partner, seemed ex- 
pressly sent into the world to do two things — to 
keep accounts and eat a dinner. He accomplished 
the double purpose of his being with surpassing ability. 
No man had greater powers of calculation and diges- 
tion. His moral lining was, we are convinced, com- 
posed of a Ready Reckoner and a Cookery Book. 
Place him before the cedars of Lebanon, and his first 
thought would be to calculate the height and girth of 
every cedar tree,' and next its market price. Fix him 
on the shores of the Ganges, and his first inquiry 
would be, if turtle swarmed there ; and Condor knew 
himself, and so knowing, left the difficulties of consul- 
tation to his more mercurial partner. Cat looked to 
the pockets of the house, and Condor to the belly. 

Having introduced the reader to the two partners, 
we will now take him into their office. So, being 
entered, one gentle question, dispassionate reader. 
(We suppose it to be the first time our friend has 
entered the office of a lawyer.) Do nothing new and 
strange strike upon your sense ? Be there no " odors " 
here? Do you feel assured that there are no subtile 
particles flying about you, no peculiar emanations? 
Do you not yearn and gasp for the sweet air of even 
a London street? Do not your heart sink and your 
lips part in sickness? Has nothing fatal to your 
genial every-day flow of blood entered your system ? 
Your finger to your pulse — now, as there is an im- 
mortal soul in truth — are you the same man you 
were ere you crossed the threshold ? No ; for you 
are not made of oak or quartz ? — You share the com- 
mon attributes of our. common nature, and you are a 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 45 

changed man. You ask why is this? We who have 
felt the influence of the genius loci — we whom no 
experience can blunt to it — cannot clearly divine the 
mystery — we can only speculate. Look at those 
piled rows of japanned boxes. We think much of 
the evil ; a great portion of the malaria issues thence : 
there are the deeds of the dying, the dead, and — but 
we will not increase the number of the parties, though 
we sacrifice alliteration. Surely within all those tombs 
all cannot be sound — no, there is the decay of truth, 
the rottenness of falsehood. Though some may be 
wholesomely embalmed with honest ink and wax, all 
do not u smell sweet, and blossom in the pounce. " 

Thence rise the vapors, thence the noxious exha- 
lations. And hark? Hear ye no sounds? A voice 
of wailing and misery, a sobbing, a groaning, as from 
a crucified spirit? though the notes are fine, an ear un- 
sophisticated may catch them. From whence, you 
ask, this anguish ? from whence this rending lamen- 
tation? We answer, from poor common sense 
locked up, gyved, disfigured, racked by a thousand 
menials, some called Whereas, some Notwithstand- 
ing, some Aforesaid, and some with names of gibber- 
ish, counting more syllables than the Spaniard. Even 
as the dainty spirit Ariel w r as imprisoned in the pine 
by Sycorax, that " blue-eyed hag/' so is poor common 
sense captive to an unrelenting beldam. And, reader, 
did you ever see the thumb-screw or the steel boot? 
You have ; and your cheek has wrinkled and your 
heart fallen as you gazed on those inventions of the 
devil, and thought of the blackened flesh, the spurting 
blood, the cracking bone, and broken marrow of the 



46 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

victim? Well, screw and boots maybe made from 
the skins of inoffensive sheep ; from rags cast from a 
beggar, and — but we must pause. We have given 
loose to a morbid imagination. We have (it is our 
failing) been dreaming a day-dream, in which have 
mingled all kinds of monstrous horrors, whilst, in- 
deed, we were comfortably seated in the office of 
Messrs. Cat and Condor. We have taken a journey 
to a den of guilt and misery, while our feet reposed 
on the matting of an " Old House in the City." It is 
fortunate we are awake, or we know not how basely 
we might have misrepresented that young pale-faced 
sandy-haired clerk, with a very white shirt-collar. 
Who knows how we might have typified the respect- 
able partners themselves, the worthy Cat and Condor, 
those solid pillars of the " Old House in the City." 
We have now to dismiss from the mind of our com- 
panion all that we have said : we are not justified in 
attempting to shake the nerves of any man ; therefore 
the reader may as frequently as he pleases defy the 
atmosphere of an attorney's office ; for our part, being 
naturally delicate, we love sweet air, and respect our 
health. 

" Very sorry, very sorry, indeed ; but, sir, money is 
money, and people are so difficult ! " 

For the wisdom enshrined in these words the 
reader is indebted to Mr. Cat, who, with one of his 
blandest smiles, his eyes twinkling through his specta- 
cles, his body gently inclined, and the tip of each 
thumb and finger nicely touching the tip of its brother, 
assured a client that money was money ; and to give 
Cat his due, he was capable of no better definition. 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 47 

To his client, however, money was liberty, peace of 
mind, everything ; he bit his lips, his eyes glared, 
and it was with some effort that with apparent com- 
posure the stranger asked, " When may I have the 
money ? " 

" To-morrow, sir, to-morrow." 

The tone and manner of Cat were most convincing, 
and yet they evidently failed to assure his client, who, 
it must be conceded, ought to have been impressed 
with the promise of his agent, as the worthy man had 
almost every day, for the previous fortnight, repeated 
it. To-morrow bubbled from the mouth of Cat as 
freely as w T ater from a source — - but Lieutenant Lacy, 
we regret to say it, was a suspicious man, and when 
looking at the support of the " Old House " from the 
crown to the gaiters, he turned upon his heel, and 
said, " Then I'll come to-morrow." It was but too 
plain that he quitted the office an unbeliever. Indeed, 
to confess all, as he descended the staircase, a muti- 
lated oath escaped his lips, an oath in which Messrs. 
Cat and Condor were very deeply interested. How- 
ever, something must in charity be allowed to the igno- 
rance of the man. How was it possible that he, a 
sailor, could judge of the difficulties of what Mr. Cat 
ever delighted to call " a financial operation " ? What 
may appear very fair and simple to an unlearned 
mariner, abounds with perplexities in the eyes of 
prudent attorneys like Cat and Condor. Two and 
two may make four on the quarter-deck, but such 
false calculation is not to pass in an " Old House in 
the City." 

Lieutenant Lacy, in addition to his majesty's com- 



48 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

mission and three body-wounds, had a wife and five 
children. Whilst his laurels were growing at sea, 
his olive branches had flourished at home ; and though 
they were all fair and beautiful, Elizabeth, a girl of 
seventeen, was the fairest, the most beautiful — " an 
angel, if ever an angel walked," to use the words of 
a young gentleman transfixed one summer evening 
by her graces ; and the exclamation must be received 
as a triumphant evidence of the loveliness of Eliza- 
beth, for certain we are that the speaker was not one 
of those happy people who, in their dreams, awake or 
sleeping, see angelic faces ; he had no standard of 
beauty, but paid an instinctive homage to its influ- 
ence. Charles Bars was himself the child of an offi- 
cer, and when, on the 2d of May, his eyes met the 
bright orbs of Elizabeth, as, accompanied by her 
mother and younger sister ! she walked in the Tem- 
ple Gardens, he felt an admiration so uncontrollable, 
that he three times thrust his head beneath her bon- 
net ; nay, so powerful was his emotion, that it abso- 
lutely drove her from the spot When she vanished 
from his sight, and he was prevented by a sense of 
delicacy (for we are almost certain that he despised 
the uplifted cane of a meddling gentleman) from fol- 
lowing her, so profoundly was he touched, that he 
flung away an almost whole cigar, and for that even- 
ing ceased to smoke. Vesuvius itself could not give 
a stronger evidence of what Mrs. Siddons once called 
" desperate tranquillity." 

Let the reader suffer a day to have elapsed, and we 
will then return to the office of Cat and Condor. 
Enter Lieutenant Lacy ; he is met with a smile so 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 49 

gracious, so cheering, by the partner of the u Old 
House," that he returns it with a look of perfect satis- 
faction. " How have I wronged this excellent man ! 
Doubtless there were many difficulties in the way of 
the negotiation ; money, on the best of security, is 
scarce." Now, though Lieutenant Lacy spoke no 
syllable of this, every word of it passed through his 
brain, as Mr. Cat, having again carefully deposited 
himself in his chair, stretched forth his right leg, and 
began with an encouraging air to pat its ca ] f. He 
then placed both his hands in his breeches pockets, 
and — credulous Lieutenant Lacy (for he thought he 
heard the crumpling of bank-notes)— observed, " I am 
very sorry." As he said this, his client leaped to his 
feet witli a noise that even awakened the calculating 
Condor, who, dropping his jaw, coolly ran his tongue 
round his upper lip, and stared at the disturber. Cat 
widened his mouth, smiled with great industry, and 
to some very rapid and homely queries of the Lieu- 
tenant, again exclaimed, " To-morrow." Here — we 
regret to record it — the sailor lost all respect for the 
rejDresentatives of the " Old House," and in a tone not 
to be mistaken demanded back his papers. Cat smiled 
consent, and opening the door, asked one of the clerks 
in the outer office for " Lieutenant Lacy's bill." 

The Lieutenant was a brave man, but at the sound 
of the word bill, he looked the veriest coward. The 
clerks of the " Old House" were celebrated for de- 
spatch, and in a trice the last item, viz., the consulta- 
tion of that day, was added to the account, and placed 
between the fingers of the debtor, who found himself 
" written down " forty pounds in the books of Cat 
4 



5<3 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

and Condor. Somewhat recovered from the first 
shock, the Lieutenant promised payment, but again 
loudly demanded his papers. Again Condor gaped, 
and again Cat smiled. " Certainly, Lieutenant Lacy 
— to be sure, when our bill is paid/' Now Lieutenant 
Lacy had not forty shillings. 

We have said the Lieutenant was a suspicious man, 
and we hate suspicion, for ninety-nine times out of a 
hundred, it takes away more than it secures. A man 
whose road lies through a .wild forest, if told that 
the place be infested by a ravenous wolf, suspects 
everything that moves about him to be no other than 
the wolf; if a fox, a hare, or a poor rabbit start at 
his feet, he trembles, fearing it the wolf; nay, if a lit- 
tle squirrel crack nuts on his native branch, the sus- 
picious man stands aghast, assured he hears the wolf; 
and if a few yards within his journey's end a pretty 
glow-worm glisten in a bush, he runs hallooing home, 
and gathering all his neighbors about him, vows he 
hath escaped by a miracle, having beheld the very 
eye of the very wolf! Now, had nobody rilled the 
poor fellow's head with terrible stories of the beast, 
he had scarcely thought of it, but had gone through 
the wood enjoying the singing birds, the waving trees, 
and the breathing flowers ! 

We know not whether Lieutenant Lacy had given 
ear to any malignant gossip touching the " Old 
House," or whether his present valuation of Messrs. 
Cat and Condor was the result of his unassisted ob- 
servations ; but certain we are that he viewed the still 
smiling Anthony with that kind of interrogative 
glance which the reader may have seen put by one 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 5 1 

gentleman in a crowd when the inquirer has lost his 
pocket-book or repeater. " Are you a thief? " de- 
mands the despoiled with all the force and eloquence 
of eyes. When Mr. Cat made the surrender of his 
client's papers provisional on the payment of his 
client's bill, Lieutenant Lacy, though silent, put a 
question, and Cat, though he spoke not, smiled an 
answer. Cat was a philosopher, it is true ; for a libel 
written or spoken he had a vein of unexampled tender- 
ness, but for mere dumb opinion, for the thoughts 
that dwell within the chambers of men's brains, they 
no more affected him than they could wound the cynic 
through his tub. No, Cat was a liberal ; he was for 
the free exercise of thought so long as thought went 
about its business, speaking no word and scrawling 
no pot-hook. It is clear Lieutenant Lacy was poorly 
matched against such a man, who was so strong in the 
consciousness of his own integrity, that when his in- 
temperate client " prepared to chide," the lawyer 
beckoned in the senior clerk to listen to the vitupera- 
tion. Whether the Lieutenant felt his want of elo- 
quence, or whether, like a high-minded player, he 
refused to exhibit before so poor an audience, we can- 
not decide. Sure we are, that the instant the sailor 
caught the eye of the clerk, that instant the speaker 
became dumb ; and more, without deigning to accept 
an invitation significantly put to him by the smiling 
Cat, he swung from the office of the " Old House " 
with a promptitude and decision worthy of Drake or 
Blake. 

We spoke of an invitation on the part of Cat, and 
must trespass a few lines in the way of comment : 



52 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

Has the reader — we beg his pardon ; of course he has 
— beheld a beautiful pair of lips, red and ripe as 
cherries, that, placed within the reach of even Origen 
himself, would win him to their audible cry of, " Kiss 
me ? " Show us the man who hath the. marble entrails 
to with sf and the invitation, and we shall honor him 
for a true philosopher, or despise him for a cowardly 
fool. Now, we place Lieutenant Lacy in the hands of 
the reader : it is for him to decide on the future char- 
acter of the client of the " Old House," when we 
state an equal instance of his forbearance. For be it 
known, that as the Lieutenant prepared to depart, 
looking death at his attorney, Mr. Cat, with an im- 
proved smile, with both hands in his pockets, the tails 
of his coat accidentally hanging over his arms, and 
his head unusually advanced, approached the Lieu- 
tenant, and again grinning, " Perhaps to-morrow," 
turned his back upon .the officer. It was a critical 
moment for the tempted Lacy ; for if ever, in her im- 
mortal life, Venus, without speaking, cried, " Kiss," 
Cat, by his smiling look, and the dexterity with which 
he took the most tantalizing position, cried, " Kick." 
A maiden gazing at the full moon is a beautiful ob- 
ject ; an astronomer surveying its valleys, plains, and 
mountains challenges our admiration and respect ; an 
Indian trembling at an eclipse, beating his tambour 
and yelling, to scare the dragon from swallowing the 
planet, calls up our pity at his darkness ; a magician 
writing his riddles on the moon's bright face carries 
us into the boundless realms of imagination ; — but 
each and all of these, in the various emotions which 
they feel and excite, are, in our opinion, powerless, 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 53 

compared to the sensations glowing, swelling in the 
bosom of Lieutenant Lacy, as he surveyed the pre- 
sented disc of Anthony Cat, lawyer — as he looked 
on the broad stone of honor of u the Old House in the 
City." Happy are we to say we know nothing of 
anatomy, and seek not to know ; for were we ac- 
quainted with the minute, the delicate machinery 
with which we are intrusted, could we enjoy, as in 
our present ignorance, our dinner and plurality of 
bottles? No; — wearing, as we should, our eyes in 
our bellies, we should shudder at the despotism which 
we daily exercise over a thousand tender subjects, 
with whose names and duties we are now unacquaint- 
ed ; and trembling at the cruel taskmaster Appetite, 
we should confidently predict intestine revolution — 
dissolution. It is thus that their deep knowledge 
makes all the faculty temperate as chameleons ; no 
true physician, no real surgeon, cares for his meals — 
empirics may gormandize, but science rarely dines. 
However, this much anatomical knowledge we have 
arrived at from the deportment of the Lieutenant in 
the hour of his temptation, — we think there can be 
no muscle from the heart to the toe, or fearful we are 
that the Lieutenant's toe had gone up. The invita- 
tion on the part of Mr. Anthony Cat was so une- 
quivocal, that how Lacy, as a man of common courte- 
sy, rejected it, he can best explain — we cannot. The 
Lieutenant descended the staircase. Mr. Cat returned 
to his seat with a look of disappointment, and the 
senior clerk vanished to his desk, balked of what at 
first promised to be a very pretty assault. 

Lieutenant Lacy was a man of the highest courage ; 



54 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

a ship's crew had presented him with a sword for his 
signal bravery in an awkward affair of " cutting out." 
He merited to the full so flattering a testimonial of 
his active gallantry ; but how much greater the recom- 
pense due to him for the passive magnanimity we 
have recorded ! In such a case, and with such provo- 
cation, not to kick appears to us the grandest triumph 
of human equanimity. Cat himself was astounded 
at the moral elevation, which, however, brought its 
reward. Ziska's skin, specially bequeathed by the 
wearer to cover a drum, though no doubt capable of 
the loudest and most terrible sounds, was, we are 
certain, thin and weak as gold beater's, compared to 
our Cat's skin, sounding a charge of assault at West- 
minster. Convinced we are that several eminent 
persons might, at their deaths, forever silence the 
fame of the aforesaid drum, would they but leave, for 
a similar instrument, that which by good kicking 
hath been so admirably prepared on the living animal. 
At present we must dwell no longer on the subject ; 
— yes, we must record a startling instance of good 
fortune bound up with kicking. 

A worthy man, happily intrusted with the guid- 
ance of public taste, owed the full blazon of his pros- 
perity to this summary, and, as it w r ould seem, intelli- 
gent operation. It chanced that a gentleman from a 
great London house sojourned, in the way of business, 
at the country factory of our man with the toe, and 
was at once astonished and delighted to hear the ap- 
plication of the said toe threatened upon the lightest 
blunder or disobedience of the people employed. 

"Can it be?" asked ^the visitor, with a look of 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 55 

mingled pleasure and credulity. " Is that your way 
of governing? Do you really kick ?" 

" I do." 

The querist folded the respondent in his arms, then, 
as Ophelia describes Hamlet, surveyed him at a dis- 
tance, clasped his hand, and with an exulting voice, 
fairly crowing at the discovered gem, and an eye 
swimming with transport, exclaimed, " Come to 
London ! " The operator quitted his country business, 
and in a trice was placed in the Metropolitan House. 
It is true, he was doomed to undergo a practical 
lesson from an amateur, in the very art in which he 
had dubbed himself regiusprofessor before he himself 
had given a solitary lecture. But passing that slight 
annoyance, he had cause to rejoice at the discovery 
of kicking, which — enthusiastic in the remedy — 
he held, like Shakespeare's u barber's chair," to be 
equally adapted to all parties. Little knew an ad- 
miring world, when it gazed on the enchantments of 
the London repository, when it beheld dancing 
nymphs and flying Cupids, that even such delicate 
creatures were marshalled in their graces by the 
threatened foot. Processions, triumphal choruses, 
battles, weddings — all were kicked up ! Next to the 
Pope, no man had such a toe ! To proceed with our 
history. An unforeseen and critical event increased 
the disappointment of the Lieutenant. Arrived at his 
lodgings, he found a letter from Portsmouth, calling 
for his instant return to his vessel, the ship being 
under sailing orders. The papers must be obtained 
from Messrs. Cat and Condor at any sacrifice ; he 
must dispose of the reversion of a trifling freehold, if*- 



56 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

herited by his wife on the death of her mother. He 
had debts to pay, butchers, bakers, schoolmasters to 
satisfy, and money must be had. 

With this deep conviction, Lieutenant Lacy ad- 
dressed himself to a solicitor, who promised an in- 
staneous recovery of the documents from the " Old 
• House." For the client, he knew not what to make 
of the procrastination of Mr. Cat, who, three weeks 
before, on almost the first glance at the papers, 
declared them to be immediately convertible ; money 
might be had upon them, ay, by noon the next day. 
Nothing was more easy ; the Lieutenant might depend 
upon the cash. From that time, however, until the 
final interview, there was some new, some unexpected 
difficulty — always, it is true, explained away by the 
zealous Cat, who always cried " to-morrow," and 
always smiled with increasing complacency. 

Lieutenant Lacy was seated in the front parlor of 
Number , St. 's Court. His daughter Eliza- 
beth, making the most of the light of a June evening, 
as it sickened through the windows, was employed on 
a crayon portrait of her father, a dear memorial for 
hearts at home, when he was " far amid the melan- 
choly main." Elizabeth had heard of the hasty sum- 
mons and worked in silence. The sailor never showed 
greater heroism than at that hour. His heart was 
heaving for his wife and children, — he was about to 
quit them, perhaps forever, — to leave tfie beautiful 
creature before him intrusted to a tempting world ; 
and yet, with these thoughts piercing his brain, he 
kept a smile upon his face for the gentle artist. Lieu- 
tenant Lacy had looked with unblenched gaze on the 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY-. 57 

guns of an approaching enemy ; but in that dreadful 
pause of life he showed less noble self-control, than 
when, with a mind racked by household wants, he 
looked with a smile into his daughter's eyes. Great 
are the battles gained on field and deck, but greater 
far the triumphs won by the struggling spirit at the 
desolate fireside. 

Father and daughter were thus employed, when a 
knock at the door proclaimed a new arrival. The 
circumstance, commonplace as it was, afforded a re- 
lief to Elizabeth, who longed, but knew not how, to 
break the silence. 

" It is not mamma," she said ; " she will not be at 
home this hour." 

The landlady briefly informed Lieutenant Lacy 
that a gentleman wished to speak to him. The Lieu- 
tenant quitted the apartment, but in two minutes re- 
turned followed by his visitor, who, beholding Eliza- 
beth, seemed struck with amazement. 

" I will but retire to my room, and then be with 
you immediately," said the Lieutenant to the stranger, 
in a tone partaking as much of a request as of a simple 
intimation. 

" At your leisure, Captain — I beg pardon, Lieuten- 
ant Lacy," replied the gentleman, venturing a second 
look at Elizabeth, who was about to follow her father, 
when a glance from him told her to remain. 

a Most happy, Miss Lacy, at the unexpected de- 
light of this second meeting ; most happy indeed, upon 
my honor." 

Yes, reader, the visitor was no other than Charles 
Bars, the saunterer from the Temple Gardens. 



58 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

"Really? — What! your father?" exclaimed the 
young gentleman, with the most enviable confidence ; 
and he took the drawing from the table, and stared at 
it very like a patron of the fine arts. " Humph ! in- 
deed, a fine-looking man. Well, never mind, matters 
must blow over ; and depend upon it, Miss Lacy, 
your papa will be a post-captain." Had Charles 
Bars been first lord of the admiralty, he could not 
have taken a higher tone of prophecy. " But really, 
Miss Lacy, it's hard your papa must leave his family ; 
is there no way of keeping him?" 

" I fear, sir, none ; he must almost immediately set 
offfor the fleet." 

" No, no ; " cried Charles Bars, " not so bad as that 
— not immediately. I feel I can on my own re- 
sponsibility allow the Lieutenant some further time ; 
indeed, I came with the best intentions." 

It was clear to Elizebeth that the visitor was some 
functionary of the Admiralty ; his confident tone be- 
trayed his power and importance. 

" Do you indeed, sir? " said the girl, forgetful of 
even the face of Charles Bars under her bonnet ; 
" you will make my mamma so happy ! we must all 
thank you." 

" Not at all, Miss Lacy ; for my part, if you desire 
it, your father shan't budge — anything to please you, 
my dear Miss Lacy ; " and with every word he spoke, 
Mr. Charles Bars approached a step nearer to Eliza- 
beth ; and when he uttered the last syllable, his au- 
dacious arm surrounded her waist. 

Lieutenant Lacy was a man of marked decision ; 
and entering the room at this instant, without one 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 59 

word or breath of warning given, Charles Bars, by 
some extraordinary process, was flung with his head 
under the fire-grate, his neck uncomfortably supported 
by the edge of an iron fender. There he lay, and 
lying, bled like Caesar. We, however, have one ex- 
cuse for the wounded. It was his firm conviction 
that Lieutenant Lacy had quitted the house by some 
back door, or by scaling the roof, and descending a 
neighboring chimney. But why, it may be asked, 
should the Lieutenant shun an interview with the visit- 
or? Why treat with such contumely the son of an offi- 
cer? The truth is, when we spoke of the profession of 
Charles Bars's father, we forgot to state his precise 
service. Be it known, then, that he was neither mili- 
tary officer nor naval officer, but officer to the sheriff! 
And Charles himself, though young, enjoyed no less 
a dignity, in support of which he had that evening 
visited Lieutenant Lacy at the suit of Messrs. Cat 
and Condor, for services not rendered, The pros- 
trate legalist, calculating that the courage of his as- 
sailant " preyed not upon carcasses," lay motionless 
as Bracton ; but he proved that his lungs were of cor- 
responding brass with his face, and he roared, " Bob 
Sykes ! " who, listening in the street, loudly responded 
to the call with the brass of the street door knocker. 
The landlady, with feminine quickness, jumped at 
right conclusions, and admitted the clamorous gentle- 
man without, who rushed into the parlor, and, blind 
to the blood of his companion, in the pursuit of his 
duty, cried, "Where's the Leaftenant?" Where, in- 
deed? All we know of his escape is this: — The 
landlady, ere she admitted Robert Sykes, with a 



60 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

strength proceeding from the hatred of her visitors, 
fairly clawed the gallant seaman from the parlor, and 
carried him off ere he himself was aware of the ab- 
duction. Where the woman hid her victim we know 
not. In what household fastness, in what domestic 
crypt, the Lieutenant lay shut up from the searching 
kindness of Robert Sykes remains to this day undi- 
vulged. The Lieutenant himself would never con- 
fess it. 

" A pretty business this, marm ; suppose he had 
killed the man ? " asked Bob Sykes of Mrs. Smith, 
when, having given up the search for the Lieutenant, 

he had time to sympathize with the maltreated 

" Suppose he had killed the man ? " again he asked ; 
and again Mrs. Smith rubbed her hands, and gave 
one of her quiet looks. 

If we know ourselves, we are made up of gentle- 
ness and mercy ; we w r ould no more kill an officer 
of the sheriff than we would tread on a poor beetle. 
But as human nature at the best is weak, and as the 
father of evil, indefatigable in his business, ever 
watches about the meekest and the purest, should we 
ever be betrayed into the indiscretion of slaying a 
sheriff's officer, — should we ever be guilty of the ab- 
surd weakness, — our only hope is, that we may be 
tried for the peccadillo by a jury of matrons. If there 
be only one Mrs. Smith among the dozen, the serenity 
with which we shall appear in the prisoners' dock 
will, as Mr. Pepys would say, " be pretty to see." 

The blood from the nose of Charles Bars continued 
to meander down the finest shirt and the gayest waist- 
coat of his multitudinous wardrobe. The truth is, his 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 6 1 

father " held that night a solemn supper," where all 
the world was invited. We speak advisedly, for 
among the guests there were many veteran officers 
and their families, half a dozen bill-brokers, and 
a sprinkling of hard-working attorneys, particular 
frfends of the hospitable host. Charles Bars had 
risen from the hands of the hair-dresser, and, aided 
by his sister Constantia, was about to rehearse, at 
their grand piano-forte, 

"Together let us range the fields ; " 

he proposing to challenge Miss Solomons to the per- 
formance of that duet in the course of the evening, 
when he was summoned by his father to execute a 
writ on Lieutenant Lacy. Charles was the model 
of filial obedience, and Messrs. Cat and Condor were 
excellent customers. However, we have already de- 
tailed the difficulties of Charles in the pursuit of his 
duty. Giving the writ to Sykes, he now quitted the 
house, and, entering a hackney-coach, drove home- 
wards, speculating by the way on the amount of 
damages. Lieutenant Lacy emerged from his mys- 
terious hiding-place, and immediately set off for the 
private house of his new solicitor. He was within 
sight of the door, when, somebody calling his name, 
he turned round and felt a paralyzing hand on his 
right shoulder. 

" Lieutenant Lacy, you must come with me." The 
speaker was no other than the discerning and ubiqui- 
tous Bob Sykes, who, by a lamp, had caught a glimpse 
of the Lieutenant's features as he rapidly passed him. 
True it is, Bob had never before beheld his prisoner ; 



62 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

but with restless observation he had scrutinized the 
drawing at the Lieutenant's lodging, and the readiness 
with which he therefore recognized the original was 
a high compliment to the powers of the artist. Noth- 
* ing now remained but to enter into a new negotiation 
w 7 ith the partners of the " Old House/' who consented 
to withdraw their action, avowing themselves ready 
to take their bills from the proceeds of the sale of the 
Lieutenant's property — a sale which they now hoped 
immediately to effect. They had never wished to 
distress the Lieutenant — not they ; but he had been 
so unadvised, so very impatient. Lacy even apolo- 
gized to Messrs. Cat and Condor for his hasty mis- 
interpretation of their motives. But time pressed ; he 
must immediately have the money — in two days the 
fleet sailed — he had that morning seen the news in 
the papers, and so, in truth, had Messrs. Cat and Con- 
dor ; and knowing, as they did, that the subsistence, 
nay, the very reputation of their client depended upon 
joining his ship, — knowing, in fact, that he had not 
an hour to spare, — they wished, at any sacrifice, to 
effect a sale. 

" In the evening, Lieutenant Lacy, I have no doubt, 
we may sign and seal." 

" Evening, sir ! " exclaimed Lacy, frantically, dash- 
ing his fist upon the desk. " In an hour, Mr. Cat, in 
an hour, or I am a lost man ! " 

And he sank again into his chair, and a tear burned 
in his eye. 

Be composed, my dear sir, pray be composed," cried 
Cat, looking himself the spirit of tranquillity. " As 
the gentleman, who, we believe, is desirous of pur- 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 6* 

chasing the cottage, is our client, we will immediately 
send to him. Edward, here! No; wait until I 
write, and take this note to Mr. Fortescue, and be sure 
and bring an answer." 

The junior clerk vanished with the missive, and 
Mr. Cat proceeded to mend his goose-quill. The 
operation finished, he politely handed the newspaper 
to Lacy, who, after a vain endeavor to read it, arose, 
and, with vacant looks, gazed out of the window. 
He was, however, shortly called to a recollection -of 
things by the sharp whistling of a man below, who 
sauntered backwards and forwards, evidently as if 
waiting for somebody. Lacy thought he recognized 
the gait, the costume of the loiterer. Yes, he was 
not mistaken; the whistler was Bob Sykes. For 
whom, for what could he be waiting? Edward, the 
junior clerk, was fleet as a greyhound ; and Mr. For- 
tescue, being luckily at home, in a few minutes person- 
ally answered the letter from the " Old House." 
" Mr. Fortescue is come, sir," said Edward. 
And Mr. Cat, with a slight bow to the Lieutenant, 
quitted the office, we presume to settle preliminaries 
with the visitor. After a short absence he returned, 
ushering in Mr. Fortescue. He was, in reality, a man 
of about two-and-thirty ; but we suppose it was either 
the smoke of his fireplace, or a continual cast of 
thought, which gave to his features, in themselves 
not regularly handsome, the aspect of eight-and-forty 
Mr. Fortescue had been a party to many of the " finan- 
cial operations" of the « Old House," and thus must 
have possessed considerable wealth. Indeed, the fact 
was roundly asserted by Messrs. Cat and Condor, who 



64 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

would facetiously (we know not with which of the 
partners originated the joke) call him their golden 
calf. In sober truth, they had talked so much of his 
wealth, that the poor man passed for an incorrigible 
miser ; and neither his dwelling nor his garments 
were calculated to falsify the opinion. Indeed, what 
can be said of a man who dwells in the top apart- 
ment of a magazine for old bottles, old rags, old iron, 
at the bottom of Saffron Hill, and yet bargains for 
and purchases twenty houses in the year — beautiful 
mansions, rich acres, parks, woods, fisheries? What 
can be urged in defence of him who, by his dealings, 
we should judge capable of wearing each day a new 
suit of gold cloth, whose whole wardrobe, were he 
turned out from it clean as Adam, would be no good 
pennyworth at fifteen shillings ? The case was plain : 
Mr. Fortescue was a muck-worm ; yet, with all the 
paralyzing passions of a miser, he had retained the 
lively sense of benefits received. He was bound by a 
feeling of gratitude, heart and soul, to Messrs. Cat 
and Condor, who, in a most difficult law case, in a 
cause which perilled the whole of his worldly proper- 
ty, had, with their proverbial sagacity, effected his 
triumph. 

Lieutenant Lacy started when introduced to Mr. 
Fortescue. The appearance of the stranger was 
not prepossessing : harsh, dark features, completely 
mapped by the small-pox — a large, black, cowering 
eye, and a mouth wide and rigid, as though modelled 
by a horse-shoe, rarely appeal with success to the 
confidence of the superficial ; and Lieutenant Lacy, 
though a worthy man, we do not set up for a sage. 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 65 

A faded green coat, with honest copper "buttons, the 
deceptive gilding having long since disappeared, a 
blue plush waistcoat, brown breeches, boots with clay- 
colored tops, a hat of the like hue, verdantly turned 
up, and a cotton neckerchief, pattern white ground, 
with a small dark-blue lozenge, composed all the 
visible obligations of Mr. Fortescue to the sophistica- 
tions of dress. The business was soon commenced : 
and luckily Mr. Fortescue was a man of few words ; 
we say luckily, for his voice was not one of those 
living harmonies the ear loves to dwell upon, at least 
it was not on the present occasion, but perhaps Mr. 
Fortescue had a cold. 

" Mr. Fortescue is prepared to give one hundred 
and fifty pounds for the cottage." 

" One hundred and fifty ! " cried Lieutenant Lacy. 
"Three hundred, Mr. Cat — three hundred was the 
sum." 

" You asked? Yes, Lieutenant, I remember, and 
in other times worth the money ; nay, I think now, 
cheap at the amount ; but Mr. Fortescue has said a 
hundred and fifty." 

We must account for a peculiar emphasis on Mr. 
Fortescue has said. Briefly, then, Mr. Cat always 
eulogized his rich client for one stern virtue in deal- 
ing ; he never rose or fell in his first offer. He was a 
man to die a martyr to his first dixi. 

" But surely, Mr. Cat, Mr. Fortescue is not aware 
of the extent of the property, of the natural ad- 
vantages — " 

" Fully aware, my dear Lieutenant. I have shown 
him the plan, taken by our Plymouth agent; he is 
5 



66 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

fully possessed of everything, and he is ready to put 
down for the purchase " — and here Mr. Cat met the 
eye of Mr. Fortescue, who looked upon the ground, 
and turned away his head with an air of indifference, 
and said very gruffly, — 

" One hundred and fifty." 

" Never ! Nothing shall force me to the sacrifice," 
exclaimed the Lieutenant. " Nothing ! A hundred 
and fifty for — " 

He seized his hat, and was about to rush from the 
room, when the shrill whistling of Bob Sykes below, 
like the voice of the snake-charmer, fixed him motion- 
less. The sweat broke in beads upon his forehead, 
his eyes glowed, and a hectic flush came to his cheek, 
as he said in a tone almost tremulous with entreaty, 
" Say two hundred." 

Mr. Cat said nothing, but threw open the palms of 
his hands and looked at Mr. Fortescue, who remained 
dumb. 

" Say two hundred," repeated the Lieutenant. 

" Mr. Fortescue?" cried Cat, awaiting his answer. 
"Mr. Fortescue?" 

Mr. Fortescue again averted his face, and, as 
it- appeared, with a slight convulsive elevation of 
the shoulders, again replied, " One hundred and 
fifty." 

" It will not suffice, sir, it will not suffice," cried 
Lacy ; and then, in a lower tone, deepening as he pro- 
ceeded, " I have engagements to meet, debts of a 
most pressing, delicate nature to discharge, children 
who — Mr. Cat, you promised three hundred ! " 

" Very true, Lieutenant, and I still think the house 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 67 

a bargain at the money ; and, moreover, I have no 
doubt, since Mr. Fortescue will make no advance, 
but in a day or two another purchaser — " 

"A day or two? You know, sir, I must quit 
London to-night. To-morrow I must be on board 
my ship, or I am a ruined, a dishonored man. 
Mr.. Fortescue," cried Lacy, in a tone that seemed 
to pierce the spinal marrow of the purchaser, for 
again his shoulders leaped at the sound, but his head 
was turned away, and he replied no syllable. There 
was a dead pause in the sanctum of the " Old House ; " 
the Lieutenant looked livid with repressed agitation ; - 
Mr. Cat gently rubbed his hands, and looked over his 
spectacles ; Condor raised his eyes from his book, and 
again passed his tongue round his upper lip, and Mr. 
Fortescue rocked to and fro, his head sunk on his 
bosom. Then Lacy, gazing wildly about him, his 
eye fell on the newspaper, and the line, " naval intel- 
ligence," struck on his brain like fire. Falling in a 
chair, he cried, or rather groaned, " Give me the 
money." The deeds were signed, the hundred and 
fifty pounds paid, and then Mr. Fortescue immediate- 
ly departed. The original bill of Messrs. Cat and 
Condor, for negotiating the purchase, was forty 
pounds, to which must, be added the expense of the 
arrest, which they so deeply regretted. These de- 
mands were of course discharged by the Lieutenant, 
who had then but little more than a hundred pounds 
to provide for claims to twice that amount. Puzzled 
how to make one guinea perform the duty of two (in 
this tragic comedy of the world, a most frequent but 
no less difficult double), Lacy prepared to return to 



68 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

his lodgings. " Tarry a little, Lieutenant ; the law 
hath yet another hold on thee." It is enacted in too 
scrupulous England, that a man shall not, even in the 
way of relaxation, break the nose of a sheriff's officer 
gratis. Now, Charles Bars had admirable grounds 
of action ; the family surgeon could conscientiously 
testify to the battered condition of the nose of his 
patient by violent contact with the knuckles of the 
sea Lieutenant. No time was lost to inform the as- 
sailant of his delicate predicament ; still it was in- 
sinuated that Christian charity was not extinct in the 
family of the Bars ; a compromise of sufficient weight 
might be received. Now, Lieutenant Lacy, recol- 
lecting a wise axiom of warriors, that to get rid of a 
troublesome enemy it is lawful to build for him a 
bridge of gold, applied a principle of the field to 
remove a civil difficulty, and thus relieved himself of 
the broken nose of Charles Bars, by a sacrifice of ten 
guineas ; in proper phrase, by building for him a 
bridge of gold. 

Ten guineas for the single nose of a sheriff's officer ! 
If so small a portion of the sheriff's face divine be so 
costly, what must be the value of the whole animal? 
Little knew an excellent friend of ours, whose whole 
heart was cream and honey, what magnificent sport 
he was preparing for the world, when he gave it as 
his firm conviction, that once a year every honest 
man, duly equipped for shooting, should be per- 
mitted unrestricted sport in and within the vicinity 
of Chancery Lane ! Of what worth would be a single 
head of game, when it is seen that the market price 
of one nose is ten guineas ! But then, on this expen- 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 69 

sive scale, what an opportunity would be offered to 
the rich to display their wealth ! Thus, no banquet, 
however luxuriously composed, would be deemed 
complete, unless, instead of being invited to partake 
of pheasant, teal, or woodcock, a carver could ob- 
serve, " Permit me, sir, the happiness of helping you 
to a little sheriff's officer." Of course at first the in- 
vitation might create a start, a tremor among many 
guests, but the luxury would soon be understood, and 
as a luxury highly relished. Our gross ancestors 
served up the boar, the swan, nay, the porpoise. Let 
us prove our advancement in civilized and rational 
life, by dishing sheriff's officers. However, to leave 
the delicacies of the table for our narrative. 

Lieutenant Lacy took a hurried farewell of his wife 
and children, and threw himself into the mail for 
Portsmouth. The sacrifice which he 'had been com- 
pelled to make, rendering the discharge of all claims 
upon him wholly impossible, he could not feel secure 
of his liberty until far upon the road. Disappointed 
in certain views for the provision of her family in 
London, Mrs. Lacy and the children prepared to 
return to their native place — a village two or three 
miles from Plymouth — at which seaport, twenty years 
before, an event occurred, which, gaining for the 
Lieutenant general esteem and admiration, we think 
had some influence on the affection of his future wife. 

Lacy, at the time whereof we write, was about 

nineteen, a midshipman on board H. M. S. -. The 

ship's crew had received long arrears of pay, and all 
on board was clamorous merriment and high*festivity. 
The slopsellers in Plymouth thronged the vessel to 



70 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

ply their dreadful trade. The first thing a sailor buys 
is a watch. Now, Mr. Lazarus, a patriarchal slop- 
seller, had sold some twenty chronometers among the 
ship's company ; but by some unaccountable error of 
the maker or makers, one and all of the watches 
stopped, as by general consent, on the second day. 
The day after, Mr. Lazarus, attended by his son, a 
boy of about ten years old, came on board — no doubt 
as an assiduous and honest tradesman, to inquire into 
the merits of his various timepieces. Mr. Lazarus 
was between sixty and seventy — a man uniting to 
the keenest views of business a singularly mild and 
venerable outside. He would dilate on the excel- 
lences of a Guernsey frock with the winning sim- 
plicity of an antique shepherd. Touched by his 
tongue, trinkets of copper glistened in the eyes of the 
buyer virgin gold. There never was so meek, so 
picturesque a slopseller. Behold him with imper- 
turbable tranquillity surrounded by a crowd of sailors, 
every man exhibiting a watch — some roaring, some 
growling, some sneering, some blaspheming — and 
not a few grasping the frail memorial of time, as 
though meditating a cast at the seller's skull. In this 
tempest of bad words and unequivocal glances, Mr. 
Lazarus was motionless and patient as the figure- 
head — a composure highly annoying to his cus- 
tomers, who began to close about him — and push 
him, now to the right and now to the left — now 
backwards and now forwards, until — how the ac- 
cident came about not one of the crew could ever 
tell: the venerable Mr. Lazarus was — pushed into 
the sea ! " Man overboard ! " is a cry that thrills 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. y x 

through the heart of a ship's company ; but whether 
in the present instance the general festivity had made 
men deaf to the call, or whether the cry was not suf- 
ficiently loud to be generally audible, we cannot ven- 
ture to determine : but this we know, the tide, run- 
ning strong, was carrying away the old Jew, cum- 
brously and heavily clothed, and in a few seconds 
Plymouth would have mourned its oldest slopseller, 
had not a young midshipman leaped into the sea, 
and, being an admirable swimmer, come up with the 
sinking Israelite as his gray hairs were fast disappear- 
ing in the deep. Young Lacy supported the drown- 
ing wretch until a boat received them. The old man's 
son, who had shrieked in helpless agony as he saw 
him borne away, fell on his knees at the feet of the 
young officer, embracing his legs in speechless grati- 
tude. All Plymouth rang with praises of the human- 
ity of the midshipman for his wonderful philanthropy 
in saving even Mr. Lazarus. However, Lacy had 
his reward ; for, as we have hinted, we doubt not 
he owed to the circumstance the first affection of 
his wife. 

Arrived at Portsmouth, Lacy lost not a moment, 
but hastened to go on board. What was his despair 
to see the whole fleet under sail ! It had weighed 
anchor an hour before ; the wind was fair and fresh- 
ening—to come up with his ship was impossible — 
he saw her — with a sailor's eye he marked her 
canvas lessening as he looked. He seemed fixed, 
motionless with misery. Another moment, and he 
leaped into a waterman's boat. " Five pounds," he 
cried to the two men, " if I reach my ship." 



72 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

" Which is she, sir? What's her name? " 
« Th e » 

"Impossible, sir — she is the fastest frigate in the 
navy, and the breeze, you may see, is getting up — 
impossible.'' 

" Make the trial, my good fellow — if I lose my 
ship, I am lost forever. My family — " Lacy could 
speak no more. 

"What do you say, Peter?" asked the waterman 
of his companion. 

" Say ? " replied the man, looking suspiciously at the 
fleet, and arming himself with a mouthful of pigtail — 
" it's impossible, you know ; but, poor gentleman, we 
must do it." 

The boat was pushed off, the sail hoisted, and the 
men, with arms of iron, plied their oars. For some 
time the Lieutenant sat gazing at his receding ship in 
silence. Every moment she gained upon them. 

" Lay to it, boys, lay to it," said Lacy, despairingly. 

The appeal was needless. The men toited at the 
top of their strength — their faces were scarlet, and 
their stout oars bent and quivered like rods of steel — 
the boat, a taught, trim craft, shot like an arrow 
through the water — still she seemed to close upon 
the frigate. 

" Damn her," said one of the men, casting a back- 
ward look at the vessel* and speaking in a tone of 
mingled disappointment and admiration, " damn her, 
she flies like a gull." 

" The wind is getting up," said Lacy, hopelessly. 

" No, sir ; if anything, going down," answered 
Peter, though he looked as if he knew well enough it 
was not so. 



AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 73 

"They are setting studding-sails," said the Lieu- 
tenant, as though he gave up all for lost. 

" The more credit for us if we beat 'em," answered 
the encouraging Peter. 

Again Lacy was silent., though in the waywardness 
of suspense he could have talked to the boat as to a 
creature instinct with life and reason. Then, as he 
cast his eyes upon the sea, he beheld not the green 
fields, the vales, and groves, which a seaman struck by 
the calenture sickens for ; but he saw mirrored in the 
deep, still following him and still looking on him, the 
face of his wife — the faces of his five children. 

" My turn now," said Lacy, tearing himself from 
the vision, and relieving one of the men at the 
oar. 

For another hour they pulled in almost unbroken 
silence. At the last, the man cried to his resting com- 
panion, " It's no use, Peter." Lacy felt that every 
stroke of the forward oar became less and less power- 
ful — that his ship became less and less distinct — the 
whole fleet looked no more than a flight of wild 
swans. " It's no use, Peter," repeated the man ; and 
he ran in his oar. 

" We are gaining 6n them, we are gaining fast," 
said Lacy ; " for God's sake, men, do not fail me." 

" It's no use, sir," replied the man ; and the sweat 
ran down his very fingers. 

" My good fellow ! " cried Lacy, imploringly to 
Peter. 

Peter gave another look at the fleet, and then 
echoed his partner — " It's no use, sir." 

Lacy sprang to his feet, stretched out his arms. 



74 AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

and, with a look of agonized madness, glared over, 
the boat. 

The men, startled, rose with him. 

At that instant, as with a charm, the wind fell. 

" Where's the wind ? " said Peter, as the sail fell to 
the mast. 

"A dead calm," cried his wondering companion. 

" Come you aft," said Peter, and again he seized 
the oar — " now, sir," cried he, " the blessing of 
God, and a long stroke, and we board her." 

Again Lacy and Peter bent to it — the oars rang in 
the rowlocks, and the water boiled as the craft shot 
through it. It was a long, a hard pull ; but Lacy stood 
on the deck of his own ship. 

His brother officers crowded about him with con- 
gratulations, and even the captain, strict disciplinarian 
as he was, hardly repressed a smile as he said, 
" Better late than never, Mr. Lacy." 

In the solitude of his cabin, reviewing the hurried 
events of the past few days, Lacy remembered and 
drew from his pocket an unopened letter. It had 
been delivered to him as he was about to get upon 
the mail. Fearing it contained no pleasing com- 
munication, he cared not to break the seal. He now 
opened the letter, and found it enclosed two hundred 
pounds in bank notes. Bewildered by the treasure, 
and still more rapt as he proceeded, he read as 
follows : — 

" Sir : It was some comfort to me, in the bitter- 
ness of this morning, to find you did not know me. 
Twenty times I could have fallen at your feet, and 






AN OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 75 

begged you to trample upon me. O, sir, I saw it all 
again — I saw the old man strangling in the sea — I 
saw your blessed hand pluck him back to life. If 
ever my eyes beheld my old father, they saw him in 
that office — there where I was brought to cheat, to 
rob you. Never before did I feel what it was to be a 
scoundrel. At the first glance I knew you, and I felt 
as if I had swallowed burning coals. The money I 
send you will make up the fair value of the house. 
For your compassion of an old man in the hour of 
peril, may the God of Israel forever bless you. 

" David Lazarus, alias Fortescue. 
" P. S. Any attempt to discover where I am will 
be useless. I shall free myself from the bondage in 
which you saw me, and leave England for some 
place where I shall be unknown. God bless you, 
dear sir." 

It was even so — Mr. Fortescue was no other than 
the tool of Messrs. Cat and Condor, the poor nominal 
purchaser of all their bargains. " But," says the 
reader, " you spoke of a lawsuit, in which all the 
property of Fortescue had been preserved by the 
partners of the 'Old House.'" Very true, for his 
only property was his neck. He had" been brought 
through a very ugly business by Cat and Condor, 
who afterwards secured him for their own mercantile 
purposes. He had, however, by some means saved 
three hundred pounds, with which he contemplated 
speculations on his own account, when his meeting 
with the preserver of his father's life, a victim to a 
conspiracy in which he himself played a most odious 



7^ THE OLD HOUSE IN THE CITY. 

character, struck upon his heart, and made it flow 
with gratitude. The miserable wretch, scurfed as he 
was with his daily villanies, at one touch of nature 
shook off his moral leprosy, and stood a healthful 
man. With his one hundred pounds he went abroad, 
and lived and died a flourishing and wealthy citizen. 
For once Mr. Charles Bars might claim the reputation 
of a prophet ; for in a few months the fleet returned to 
Portsmouth, and in two days afterwards a communi- 
cation from the Admiralty greeted Lacy Commander. 
But what of Messrs. Cat and Condor? w r hat of the 
partners of the " Old House " ? On an eventful feast, 
in the fourth plate of turtle, Condor went off in an 
apoplexy. His fortune, inherited by a profligate 
nephew, passed in two years into the hands of black- 
legs. For Cat, he became a bigoted believer in su- 
pernatural signs and tokens. He sank to mere im- 
becility, and may .now be seen in a certain asylum, 
pacing the court-yard, vacantly smiling, rubbing his 
hands, and crying every minute, — 
" To-morrow, sir ! to-morrow ! " 

1835- 



THE LAST PARACHUTE. 77 



SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LAST PARA- 
CHUTE. 

CONSIDERABLE excitement was on the — th 
ult. manifested throughout the populous dis- 
trict of Walworth. It had been industriously, though 
confidentially, whispered that Mr. Minnow, a fish- 
monger and vestryman, distinguished no less for his 
public spirit than his private virtues, was about to 
share in the perilous ascent of Mrs. Graham. A 
new parachute, invented by Mr. Minnow, whose 
scientific attainments had long been the theme of ad- 
miration among a select circle of friends, was to be 
tried on the occasion. And, with that liberality 
which had ever characterized the conduct of the 
above-named gentleman, a bushel of live oysters, sup- 
plied from his own warehouse, was to accompany the 
aerial voyagers at least five miles above the earth, 
and then to descend in a parachute, in order that the 
timid and sceptical might be assured and convinced 
of the perfect safety of the conveyance. In his zeal 
for science, Mr. Minnow now resolved that his own 
infant — the youngest of an interesting family of ten 
— should be the favored tenant of the parachute ; 
but, as it had been only three days short-coated, Mrs. 
Minnow, in her natural anxiety for the health of her 
offspring, suggested that the dear baby might possibly 
take cold ; and when it was considered that oysters 
would do quite as well, the maternal hesitation on 
the part of Mrs. Minnow must find some allowance 



78 THE LAST PARACHUTE. 

in the bosoms of the most curious and the most scien- 
tific. 

We should waste time, ink, and paper were we to 
attempt to demonstrate the vast utility of the para- 
chute. Its extraordinary influence on the comforts 
of society is, happily, not now to be disputed. To 
be able to shoot from a balloon to the earth, when 
the balloon itself would afford that transit, is to enjoy 
the most gratifying sense of independence. Who 
would descend the stairs of a house when a safe and 
rapid flight into the street might be taken from the 
garret window? However, to the eventful proceed- 
ings of the day. 

At an early hour the ground was thronged. The 
balloon was inflated, and, by its tugging motion, 
seemed, like a young eagle, to desire to wing its 
proud and lofty way into that bright and circumam- 
bient air wherein it was soon to soar in gentle grace 
and glittering beauty. At three o'clock Mrs. Gra- 
ham appeared upon the ground, and was received 
with marked enthusiasm. She looked at the balloon, 
bowed, and smiled confidently. She was dressed in 
a brown gown, white straw bonnet, and blue ribbons. 
We had almost forgotten to state that she also wore 
a chinchilla tippet. By those who stood near her 
she was understood to inquire for her fellow-passen- 
ger, Mr. Minnow. 

At this moment, as we are credibly informed by an 
ear-witness of unimpeachable character, Mr. Min- 
now came upon the ground. He was at first re- 
ceived with silence ; but, on several persons exclaim- 
ing, " That's he — that's Minnow ! " an indescribable 



THE LAST PARACHUTE. 79 

shout seemed to rend apart the very heavens. Mr. 
Minnow put his hand upon his heart, and bowed. 
He was a remarkably respectable-looking man, hav- 
ing on a handsome blue coat with bright buttons, 
drab breeches and gaiters, a white hat turned up with 
green, a gold watch (he took it out to inquire the 
hour), and large appendages. He carried in his 
hand what — and w r e think, too, we state the gen- 
eral impression — we took it to be a gig umbrella. 
Reader, it was the new parachute ! Who that 
looked upon the machine could have suspected it? 
Who, when the mystery was unfolded, can describe the 
deKght of the intoxicated multitude? At length all 
was prepared, and — 

And here, readers and fellow-countrymen, we are 
compelled to pause to call upon you to applaud the 
vigilant benevolence of the district magistracy, who 
had caused Inspector Lynx, of the " I " division, to 
prohibit the ascent of the oysters — we are bound to 
say there was a full bushel — unless it could be sat- 
isfactorily proved to him, upon scientific principles, 
that no accident could accrue to them from the ex- 
periment. 

We were delighted at this interference for two rea- 
sons. The first is, it proved the humanity and activi- 
ty of the magistrates ; and the second afforded us the 
pleasure of hearing Mr. Minnow shortly, but lucidly, 
lecture on the principles of his new parachute, and 
convince Inspector Lynx that it was impossible the 
descent from any height could be so violent as to 
break in pieces both shells of the oyster ; that, if the 
bottom shell were broken, the top would be unin- 



80 THE LAST PARACHUTE. 

jured, and vice versa. On this, in the most hand- 
some manner, — on this Inspector Lynx suffered the 
bushel of adventurous aeronauts to be placed in the 
parachute ; and we deal in no hyperbolical figure 
when we state that expectation was upon tiptoe. 

Mr. Minnow handed Mrs. Graham into the basket- 
car, and, with no visible emotion, followed. A third 
passenger, a studious-looking man, — as it was whis- 
pered, the editor of a journal of considerable weight, 
— took his seat upon the " cross-bench. " The word 
was given — the ropes were cut — the balloon rose 
very, very slowly. Mrs. Graham flung out several 
bags of sand, and Mr. Minnow lightened his pockets 
of several packs of cards, eagerly sought for by the 
crowd as mementos of the soul-stirring occurrence. 
We were happy in securing one of these precious 
tokens, the subjoined facsimile of which we are 
proud to lay before our readers : — 



PETER MINNOW, 

^jirimp raft Ilj£ii-/t3jr 3Hraj}irat ; 

NEW CUT, LAMBETH. 

The only Warehouse for the real Parachute Oysters. 

Sent in Barrels to all parts of the United Kingdom. 

N. B. rEBIWmKLES IN EVEKY VABIETY. 



Although many bags of sand and several packs of the 
above cards were flung from the car, the* balloon rose 
lazily, and some of the lower order of spectators had 



THE LAST PARACHUTE. 8 1 

their mouths ready formed to hiss, when Mrs. Gra- 
ham darted a glance of suspicion at the editor. With 
some confusion in his manner he put his hand to his 
coat pocket, and hurriedly flung an unsuspected copy 
of his own journal from him ; and, extraordinary as 
it may appear, the balloon, with the parachute at- 
tached to it, shot like a rocket into the air, Minnow 
just before exclaiming to his wife, " Mind, Betsy, 
the left box ! " 

The crowd huzzaed, Mrs. Graham, Minnow, and 
the second gentleman each waving a flag of a differ- 
ent hue. 

We are happy to say that here our task concludes, 
for we have now to report the words of that daring 
aeronaut, Peter Minnow, himself: — 

" We rose with a gentle and steady breeze. For 
at least five minutes — so clearly could we discern 
objects — I could distinguish the mustache of Pot- 
lid, the master tinman of Lambeth Marsh ; nor was 
it until two minutes more had elapsed that we had 
wholly lost sight of his tip. 

" We crossed the Thames between Waterloo and 
Blackfriars. By the reflection of the sun upon a 
black cloud, and by the aid of an excellent glass, we 
plainly discerned the copper edge of a bad sixpence 
presented to, and taken by, the unsuspecting toll- 
man. 

" The coal barges looked no larger than old shoes, 

and the fan-tail hats of the coal-heavers like patches 

on the cheeks of a lady. The pearl buttons on the 

velveteen jacket of a ticket-porter, as Mrs. Graham 

6 



82 THE LAST PARACHUTE. 

assured me, presented quite an era in the history of 
aerostation. 

" We looked from time to time with intense inter- 
est on the passengers in the parachute, all of whom 
appeared perfectly tranquil. We felt assured, from 
their unaltered demeanor, that no timidity on their 
part would prevent a fair trial of the powers of the 
new machine. 

" The weather was beautiful. As we steered east- 
ward St. Paul's became a conspicuous and animating 
object. We hovered above it like an eagle flapping 
his fan-like wings in the molten sun.* Here we de- 
scended so low, and there was about us such a death- 
like calm, that we heard, or thought we heard, the 
half-pence chink at the door of the cathedral. Mrs. 
Graham playfully remarked to me that the statue 
of Queen Anne, observed from our point of view, 
looked very like a Bavarian broom-girl. 

" As we were wafted gently onwards Bow Church 
arose in all its simple dignity. By a strange coinci- 
dence Bow bells were ringing. We were borne 
tranquilly onwards until we found ourselves above 
the Stock Exchange. Here many persons looked 
very small indeed, and here we experienced a dead 
calm. In order that we might rise into another cur- 
rent we cast more sand out, and feared, from the 
confusion we saw below, that we had unconsciously 
flung a great deal of dust into the eyes of several con- 
tractors. 



* We trust we do no wrong to Mr. Minnow, but we shrewdly suspect that 
his companion, the editor, has helped him to a figure or two. 



THE LAST PARACHUTE. 83 

"We rose and found another current, and, to our 
inexpressible satisfaction, were carried due west. 
Even at such an altitude we were able to make out 
objects. I saw what I am sure was the line of stakes 
belonging to the Golden Cross, but Mrs. Graham in- 
sisted that it was the National Gallery. 

" I observed to the gentleman that accompanied us 
that the rarefied air produced in me symptoms of 
sudden hunger. At this he significantly asked if it 
were necessary that the whole bushel of oysters 
should descend unopened. To this I replied, with 
firmness, that I could not break faith with the pub- 
lic — the parachute must go the whole bushel. 

" We were now driven on with great speed, and 
were about the desired five miles above the surface 
of the globe, when Mrs. Graham remarked that we 
had sailed a great distance, and that, consequently, 
we should have an equal distance to return. 

" I had promised the spirited proprietor of the 
Victoria Theatre to present myself upon his stage at 
half past eleven at night. (I may be here permitted 
to express my regret that, as an old neighbor of that 
gentleman, I was compelled to refuse the terms of 
the proprietor of the Surrey Theatre. I could not, 
with justice to my family, take two pounds, and in- 
clude the bushel of oysters. My tub is still at his 
service for the dress-boxes.) Half past eleven at the 
latest ; the hour was . stated in the bills, and I ex- 
pected a great crowd in my rooms when the play 
was over. On this I preferred to let the parachute 
descend. 

•' It was an anxious moment. I cut the cord, the 



84 THE LAST PARACHUTE. 

aeronauts — the whole bushel — shot quicker than 
lightning down the blue abyss. We rose, but, owning 
to the skilful direction of Mrs. Graham, suffered no 
inconvenience. The balloon was almost immediate- 
ly at our command, and we prepared to descend, that 
we might join as soon as possible our brother aero- 
nauts. 

" We alighted in a paddock, the property of Mr. 
Fuss, late of Houndsditch, at the picturesque village of 
Pinner. To himself, his- amiable lady, their lovely 
family, and various domestics, we owe the greatest 
thanks for assistance in our descent. 

" Mr. Cuts, schoolmaster of Pinner, in the most 
handsome way despatched his fifty boys in various 
directions in search of the parachute, liberally offer- 
ing sixpence from his own pocket to the fortunate 
finder. 

" We were then ushered by Mr. and Mrs. Fuss into 
their front parlor, where we partook of a cold colla- 
tion — shoulder of mutton, pickled walnuts, ale, &c. 

" We made a hearty meal, but were naturally anx- 
ious for the fate of the parachute. At length our 
fears were dissipated by the appearance of a male 
and female gypsy, followed by some of the boys of 
Mr. Cuts, who brought to us the uninjured parachute 
and all the — shells ! 

" The gypsies were rigidly cross-examined, but 
were firm in their statement that the oysters came to 
the earth ready opened. When the peculiar lawless- 
ness of this class of people is taken into considera- 
tion, their statement will weigh nothing with the 
scientific ; for it is plain that the same force that 



THE LAST PARACHUTE. 85 

opened an oyster must have had some effect upon the 
frail fabric of the parachute, which will, for the next 
six weeks, be exhibited in my rooms for the satisfac- 
tion of the curious, whether they take their oysters 
raw or scalloped. 

" He indeed must be the most sceptical or the most 
envious of men, or both, who can ever venture to 
question the safety and utility of my parachute. 

" After enjoying the hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. 
Fuss, the balloon and parachute were packed up, and 
we arrived at the stage door of the Victoria Theatre 
at five-and-twenty minutes past eleven, where we 
were cordially welcomed by the lessee ! " 

Thus far goes the simple statement of Mr. Min- 
now. It is now our duty to declare that no sooner 
was his arrival made known, than a loud shout was 
set up for him, when he instantly appeared upon the 
stage, led on by the manager. A supernumerary in 
the background carried the parachute. 

Mrs. Graham was next called for, when that lady 
appeared, and courtesied an acknowledgment of the 
honor. 

A vehement cry was next raised for the proprietor. 
He came on after some hesitation, and was welcomed 
with a loud burst of applause. He was so affected 
by the novelty of his situation that he was led off, 
leaning on the arms of his friend, the stage-manager. 

Mrs. Minnow and numerous family were next re- 
cognized in the left hand stage-box. They were loud- 
ly applauded, and severally returned their mute yet 
eloquent thanks. 

The friends of science will, we feel assured, be 



86 my husband's winnings. 

delighted to learn that it is next season the intention 
of Mr. Minnow to ascend every evening with his 
parachute, beginning on Easter Monday, until fur- 
ther notice. I ^37* 



MY HUSBAND'S "WINNINGS." 

A HOUSEHOLD INCIDENT. 

"Most men in something cheat their wives." — The Honeymoon. 

" r 1 ^HERE, Alary, my love, take my winnings," 
JL said Air. Joseph Langshawe ; at the same 
time laying a sovereign and a sixpence upon the 
breakfast table. 

" Won again, Joseph ! " cried Airs. Langshawe, 
with one of her prettiest looks of astonishment; 
" won again ! " 

" Take my winnings," repeated Mr. Langshawe, 
and, suppressing a sigh, he languidly stirred his 
coffee. 

The reader may be assured that, for a winning 
man, Mr. Joseph Langshawe had one of the longest 
faces out of Chancery ; yet, at the time at which our 
story commences, he appeared to his wife the chosen 
of good fortune ; there never was such a lucky man ! 
It seemed enough for him to touch the cards to turn 
them to trumps. Joseph Langshawe had won again ! 

Certainly the continued prosperity of Langshawe 
was to his wife marvellous : he never sat down to 



MY HUSBAND'S WINNINGS. 87 

cards that he did not rise money in pocket. Had 
Joseph made a terrible compact with that crafty gen- 
eral dealer who continually roams about the earth, 
seeking cheap pennyworths? Had he trucked his 
immortal jewel for pasteboard diamonds as he chose 
to evoke them in this world? Had he surrendered 
himself to the great demon for a magical influence 
over tens, and fives, and sequences ? In a word, 
was Joseph Langshawe become the fated Faust of 
five-card cribbage? Mysterious fears of future evil 
mingled in the marvellings of Mrs. Langshawe! 

" When I think of Joseph's continued good fortune," 
observed Mrs. Langshawe to a female friend, " I own 
to you it sometimes makes me tremble." 

" Why, my dear ? " asked Mrs. Bridgeman. " Why? 
I thought you told me, that, like a good creature as 
he is, he always gave you his winnings." 

" And so he does," replied Mrs. Langshawe ; " in- 
variably." 

u What a good soul ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bridgeman. 
" Dear fellow ! it proves him so free from any selfish 
motives — shows that he merely plays for innocent 
excitement. And does Langshawe never lose ? " 

" Never," replied Mrs. Langshawe ; " and it is that 
which makes me so very unhappy." 

" Makes you unhappy ! Well, you are the strangest 
creature," cried Mrs. Bridgeman. 

" That is," rejoined Mrs. Langshawe, " when I 
fear that his continued good luck may some day 
tempt him to play for a ruinous sum ; for it is im- 
possible, my dear, that such fortune as Joseph's can 
last. I should be so happy if he'd never touch a 
card again ! " 



88 my husband's winnings. 

" Why, you bought that beautiful chain, and your 
diamond drops, and all out of your husband's win- 
nings," exclaimed Mrs. Bridgeman. 

" Very true," allowed Mrs. Langshawe ; and then 
she repeated, with a deep sigh, " but such fortune as 
Joseph's can't last." 

Certain we are that the reader, after some further 
acquaintance with Langshawe, would not wish 
Joseph's fortune to continue. A brief extract from 
the conversation of the night previous to the presenta- 
tion of the sovereign and sixpence may explain the 
mystery of Langshawe's winnings. 

" Well, Langshawe," cried a friend from an op- 
posite table, as Joseph rose to go home, " how have 
you fared to-night? " 

" As usual," said Joseph, and he tried to whistle ; 
" as usual — there's no standing Bridgeman's luck." 

"What!" exclaimed Fourpoints, "lost again? 
Why, you always lose." 

" I should say always," replied Joseph ; " never 
mind — it's all right; yes, I've just enough;" and 
Langshawe held in his hand a sovereign, and a half 
crown, and a sixpence. 

" Brought down to that, eh? " asked Flush, looking 
at the three pieces of coin. 

u All that's left," answered Langshawe, " out of 
five and twenty pounds. Never mind, there's just 
enough : half a crown will pay for my coach home, 
and then — yes, that will make a very good show ; " 
and Joseph surveyed at a distance the little piece of 
gold and lesser piece of silver in his palm ; " a very 
good show for my winnings." 



MY HUSBAND'S WINNINGS. 89 

" Winnings ! " exclaimed a new member of the 
club — " winnings ! I thought, sir, you had nothing 
but losses ? " 

" That's very true, sir," replied Langshawe ; " not- 
withstanding, I always make it a point in my domes- 
tic economy, whatever my losses may be, to take 
home my profits to my wife. You perceive," — and 
Joseph exhibited the coin, — " when the coach is paid 
for, although Fve lost to Bridgeman nearly four and 
twenty pounds, here's just a sovereign and a sixpence 
for my winnings." 

" A sixpence ! Why be so particular with the six- 
pence?" inquired the new member. 

Mr. Joseph Langshawe looked one of his gravest 
looks in the face of the new member, and, after a com- 
passionate shake of the head, observed, " I should say, 
sir, you were a bachelor ; I should say, — pardon me if 
I'm wrong, — that as yet you know nothing of conjugal 
confidence, otherwise you would perceive that the 
sixpence was a — a clincher." 

" A clincher ! " repeated the simple new member. 

" The sovereign by itself," observed Joseph, u might 
appear suspicious ; but don't you perceive there's a 
reality in odd money. Mrs. Langshawe will see 
truth, sir, truth in the tester." 

And the next morning, as we have already shown, 
Joseph handed over to the partner of his worldly 
goods a sovereign and a sixpence — his winnings ! 

u And who played last night?" asked Mrs. Lang- 
shawe — we must again ask the reader's attendance at 
the breakfast table — u who played ? Bridgeman ? " 

" Bridgeman," answered Joseph, shortly. 



90 MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. 

" My dear Joseph, " said Mrs. Langshawe, very 
gravely, " I wish you'd exert the influence of a friend 
over Bridgeman ; he confesses nothing to his wife, 
poor, dear woman ! — but I'm sure his losses must be 
very heavy. Everybody hasn't your good fortune, 
Joseph." Langshawe buried that expressive feature, 
his mouth, and half his nose, in his tea-cup. u It 
would make me truly unhappy, Joseph, if I thought 
you won any of his money," said Mrs. Langshawe. 

" Make yourself perfectly easy on that point, my 
dear," said Langshawe, internally wincing at the 
absurd suspicion ; " my hands are»clean of Bridgeman, 
though I played with him." 

" I'm delighted to hear it," cried Mrs. Langshawe. 
" And now, Joseph, if you'll promise me to leave off 
play altogether — " 

" I have serious thoughts of it," said Joseph. 

" You'll make me completely happy. For, depend 
upon it, as I have said again and again, your present 
fortune can't last." 

" I've thought so too," said Langshawe ; who might 
have added, " and that's why I have gone on." 

" And if you give up cards, perhaps the example 
may have a good effect upon Bridgeman ; for the 
Bridgemans are not like us, Joseph ; they want, I 
fear, that mutual confidence in one another, without 
which marriage must be — " 

" To be sure, my dear," said Langshawe, acutely 
anticipating his wife's period — " to be sure. No — I 
shall give up play." 

"I hope you will — I sincerely hope," said Mrs. 
Langshawe, as she took up the sovereign and the six- 
pence, " that this will be the last of your winnings." 



MY HUSBAND S WINNINGS. 91 

Noon had scarcely passed ere a passionate knock- 
ing at the door of the Langshawes announced a visitor. 
" Bless me ! yes, it is — it is, dear Mrs. Bridgeman," 
said Mrs. Langshawe, with mingled surprise and 
pleasure, as she heard the silvery voice of her friend 
on the staircase. " Dear Mrs. Bridgeman ! " 

As the visitor was introduced, Mrs. Langshawe 
jumped from her chair to run and kiss her best ac- 
quaintance, when Mrs. Bridgeman smiled somewhat 
severely, half dropped a courtesy, put her hand to her 
brow, and sank into a seat. 

u What's the matter, dear?" asked Mrs. Lang- 
shawe. 

Mrs. Bridgeman entered into no details of her 
complaint, but simply observed, " I shall be better 
presently/' 

"Anything happened at home?" inquired Mrs. 
Langshawe. "How's Bridgeman?" 

Hath the reader beheld the countenance of an 
invalid when prescribed a certain drug, of all drugs 
his worst abhorrence? Hath the reader himself felt 
the cold shiver running through his vitals, twisting 
the very tips of his toes — the indescribable nausea 
that hath puckered up his countenance divine, and 
given his head a shake of most expressive loathing? 
Any one, so experienced, would have thought from 
Mrs. Bridgeman's manner that Mrs. Langshawe had 
spoken, it might be, of rhubarb, and not of Bridge- 
man — of assafoetida, perhaps, and not of a husband. 

"I hope he's well?" said Mrs. Langshawe, anx- 
iously. 

" I believe Mr. Bridgeman is very well," said his 



92 MY HUSBAND'S WINNINGS. 

wife ; " but you know he never tells me anything. 
Yes, last night I did gather from him that he had 
played at cards only with Mr. Langshawe." 

u So Joseph told me," observed the innocent Mrs. 
Langshawe. 

" Ha ! you are blessed with a fortunate husband," 
said Mrs. Bridgeman, dryly. " Some people, it is 
plain, are born with lucky fingers." 

" I'm afraid it is so: however, Joseph has almost 
promised me never, never to play again." 

" 'Twill be a happy circumstance for some of his 
friends," remarked Mrs. Bridgeman, significantly. 

" If, however, he will play and win, I am resolved 
— for it lies heavily upon my conscience to spend the 
money upon myself — I am determined to devote the 
money to some benevolent purpose : and, since the 
thought has taken me, I am so delighted that you are 
come to advise me ! What do you think, my dear 
Mrs. Bridgeman," and Mrs. Langshawe drew herself 
nearer to her friend, — " what do you think of the 
Society for the Conversion of the Jews ? " 

u Do you intend to subscribe Mr. Langshawe's win- 
nings of last night to that estimable body ? " asked 
Mrs. Bridgeman, biting her lips. 

" How kind the suggestion ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
Langshawe. u What a good creature you are! I 
did not think to do so, but now I certainly shall." 

" For five-and-twenty pounds," said Mrs. Bridge- 
man, with a terrible smile, " no doubt you may be a 
life governess." 

" Five-and-twenty pounds ! " cried Mrs. Lang 
shawe, laughingly. 



MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. 93 

" The losses of Mr. Bridgeman last night," re- 
marked his wife ; "he played with Mr. Langshawe, 
and, I presume, as usual, the fortunate man gave you 
his winnings." This was -said in a cold, cutting tone, 
sharp enough to sever every silver tie of female 
friendship. 

" My dear Mrs. Bridgeman, there must be some 
mistake. Joseph gave me his winnings, certainly, but 
they were only a sovereign — " 

"A sovereign*! " exclaimed Mrs. Bridgeman, con- 
temptuously. 

" And a — sixpence," added Mrs. Langshawe, with 
her usual meekness. 

" And a sixpence ! A sovereign and a sixpence ! 
My dear," said Mrs. Bridgeman, with awakened 
sympathy, " you are a deceived, an injured woman." 

" Do you really think so ? " asked Mrs. Langshawe, 
unconscious of the calamity. 

" Mr. Langshawe won five-and-twenty pounds — 
I have secret but certain means of knowing — of 
poor, innocent Bridgeman : five-and-twenty pounds, 
madam ; and the crafty man makes his winnings a 
sovereign and a — a — well, the effrontery of some 
people ! And had you no suspicion of your hus- 
band's falsehood ? Why, that very sixpence — the 
affected scrupulousness of the thing — would have 
made me doubt him. My love, I have seen more of 
the marriage state than you, and I know that men are 
never so very particular, except when they mean to 
deceive us." 

" I'm sure I can't see why Joseph should misrep- 



94 MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. 

resent his winnings. I don't see the motive," said 
the artless Mrs. Langshawe. 

" Perhaps not, my love ; perhaps not. How should 
you know what he does with all his money? It's 
plain he has some object in deceiving you/' w r as the 
charitable opinion, expressed with more than suf- 
ficient force, of Mrs. Bridgeman. 

" It would really seem so," said Mrs. Langshawe, 
almost trembling at her doubts. 

" Be sure of it," said Mrs. Bridgeman ; " you haven't 
a twentieth part of his winnings, and where they 
go-" 

" Many pardons," cried Langshawe, who had sud- 
denly opened the door ; u trust I bgreak upon no 
secrets. How's Bridgeman? " 

Mrs. Bridgeman looked at one hand, then at the 
other, and, with an effort, said, "I hope — that is, 
very well." 

" Where are you going, love? " asked Langshawe, 
as his wife moved towards the door. 

" Entertain Mrs. Bridgeman for a minute ; I'll 
return directly," said Mrs. Langshawe ; for she felt 
her eyes filling with tears as she looked upon Joseph, 
and thought of his duplicity, the sovereign, and the 
sixpence. 

u Bridgeman very well, eh?" said Langshawe, in 
his easy, pleasant style. 

" All things considered, remarkably well," an- 
swered Mrs. Bridgeman. 

" Nothing happened ? " inquired Langshawe, struck 
by the serious manner of the lady. " Eh? bless me ! 
all right at home I hope ? — no domestic loss — no — " 



MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. 95 

" Some people, Mr. Langshawe, would call it one. 

•Mr. Bridgeman's income, though sufficient for all 

reasonable enjoyments, is hardly adequate to the calls 

made by cards upon it, together with the constant 

good fortune of his bosom friends." 

" Bridgeman plays now and then, to be sure," said 
Langshawe, in mollifying voice, u but then, he al- 
ways wins." 

" Wins ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bridgeman ; " you know 
better than anybody, you know — that last night he 
lost five-and-twenty pounds. " 

" Is it possible? " cried Langshawe. 

" Possible ! " echoed the lady. " Losing would 
seem a matter of certainty when he plays with some 
people. It is as certain for Mr. Bridgeman to lose as 
for Mr. Langshawe to win." 

Langshawe, hurt by the words, yet more by the 
piercing looks of Mrs. Bridgeman, resolved to clear 
himself of the odium of constant success. With this 
determination, first glancing towards the door, he 
took the lady's hand. " My dear Mrs. Bridgeman, 
I'm sure you can keep a secret." 

The compliment at once disarmed Mrs. Bridge- 
man : she, too, looked towards the door, and then 
said, " I can, Mr. Langshawe." 

" Then, between ourselves, my dear madam," said 
Langshawe, in a low, soft voice, u I never win." 

" Never win, Mr. Langshawe ! — " 

" Never. The truth is, Mary — bless her! — is 
such a rigid economist in everything that concerns 
herself, is so averse to laying out a shilling upon 
the smallest trinket, that I am compelled to use a 



96 my husband's winnings. 

little harmless deceit, to induce her to commit the 
least expense." 

" Then your winnings last night, Mr. Langshawe ? " 

" Quite apocryphal, I assure you — all, what I may 
call," said Langshawe, " a conjugal fiction." 

"Mr. Langshawe," said Mrs. Bridgeman, with a 
subdued fierceness that made Joseph stare, — " a man 
may from habit consider himself justified in attempt- 
ing the most unblushing fraud upon his own wife — 
habit goes far in all matters — but, sir, that you should 
hold my common sense in so contemptuous a light — " 

" My dear madam, I protest ! " exclaimed Lang- 
shawe, coloring to the eyelids ; " I protest that I have 
the profoundest sense of — " 

" Adds, sir — adds to the meanness of your first du- 
plicity. You know that Mr. Bridgeman, your dear 
friend, as you are pleased to call him, last night lost 
five-and-twenty pounds." 

u I vow I know nothing of the matter," cried 
Joseph. 

u And more, and worse than all, that Mr. Lang- 
shawe was the winner." 

" Now, my dear Mrs. Bridgeman," said Joseph, 
almost amused at the extravagance of the charge, he 
himself having been the sufferer, " it is very true 
that I spoke of winnings to Mary — I — " 

" I know, sir — I know ; one piece of gold and a 
sixpence, Mr. Langshawe," cried Mrs. Bridgeman, 
for a lady very sternly — "I am astounded at your 
double falsehood — I blush for your meanness — I — " 

Langshawe could say nothing. For the first time 
he regretted that he had ever appeared to his wile a 
winning man. 



MY HUSBAND S WINNINGS. 97 

" Mr. Langshawe ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bridgeman, 
with new energy, " may I solicit of you one — a last 
— favor?" ' 

" Twenty, my dear Mrs. Bridgeman," answered 
the obliging Joseph. 

" One — one will suffice, Mr. Langshawe. Promise 
me never to play with my unfortunate husband again. 
Heaven knows what his losses may have been ! His 
poor wife knows nothing. But where there are great 
winnings, there must consequently be — you under- 
stand me, dear Mr. Langshawe ? " — and Mrs. Bridge- 
man tried to forget her passion, and to smile Lang- 
shawe into acquiescence. " Poor Bridgeman/' she 
added, in a very equivocal tone, " is really no match 
for you. You are — you know you are — I hear it 
upon all hands — such an invincible player; whilst 
simple Bridgeman, in the vanity of his heart, thinks 
himself your equal. Now, do pray take pity of his 
weakness — don't, don't play with him;" and Mrs. 
Bridgeman solicited the compassion of Langshawe, 
as she would have entreated the mercy of a highway- 
man : indeed, despite the peculiarity of Joseph's win- 
nings, he felt himself before Mrs. Bridgeman some- 
what in the situation of a pickpocket. " There is a 
fate about you," said Mrs. Bridgeman — " as might 
be said of Macbeth, you bear * charmed ' cards — 
therefore, do spare my silly man — do spare." 

" Mr. Bridgeman," said the servant, opening the 
door. 

" Bridgeman ! " cried his wife and Langshawe. 

" My mistress is with him, sir," said the domestic, 
and disappeared. 
7 



98 MY HUSBAND'S WINNINGS. 

It was ttfo true. Whilst Mrs. Bridgeman and Mr. 
Langshawe bad been left to conversation, Airs. Lang- 
shawe and Mr. Bridgeman — the gentleman entered 
the house as Mary quitted Joseph — had discoursed of 
the gain and loss of the preceding evening. 

" Mr. Bridgeman, I am so glad you're come !" said 
the gentle Mrs. Langshawe. " Your dear wife is up 
stairs." 

" Indeed ! " observed Bridgeman, very tranquilly. 
He then asked, " How's Langshawe? " 

" Very well ; he is with your lady. O, Mr. Bridge- 
man ! I cannot express to you how much I am an- 
noyed at the circumstances of last night." 

Mr. Bridgeman put his hand to his chin, gently ex- 
alted his shoulders, and spoke not. 

" I wish to my heart that Joseph would not play, 
for his fortune is so extraordinary," said Mrs. Lang- 
shawe. 

Now, as Mr. Bridgeman was fully aware that, al- 
though Joseph always lost to him, he invariably, as 
in the case of the sovereign and the sixpence, took 
home winnings to some amount to Mrs. Langshawe, 
he did not feel quite at ease in his present situation 
with that lady. " Fortune," he endeavored to observe, 
" does act extraordinarily with Langshawe." 

" And then there is something to me so uncomforta- 
ble, to say the least of it, in winning the money of 
our friends ; " and Mrs. Langshawe looked innocently 
in the perturbed face of Bridgeman. 

" Cards are like love, Mrs. Langshawe, as I take 
it ; friends are not to be considered in the matter," 
replied the impartial Bridgeman. 



MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. 99 

" I can't think so. I think there is something al- 
most mean and sordid in these continual attempts on 
the purse of those for whom we profess an esteem, a 
friendship," said Mrs. Langshawe. 

Mr. Bridgeman, with the weight of many pounds 
of his friend Langshawe about the neck of his con- 
science, began to think the interview less pleasant 
than it might have been. It was plain, however, 
from her looks, that Mrs. Langshawe expected sotpe 
reply ; therefore Mr. Bridgeman nodded his head 
affirmatively. 

" But the worst of all is, Mr. Bridgeman," said 
Mrs. Langshawe, with animation, " that falsehood, 
positive falsehood, comes of the practice. Never — 
never before has Joseph deceived me ! " (Poor little 
dear !) " And now I have found him capable of the 
least deceit — of misrepresentation in the simplest 
things — it has made me truly wretched. Without 
mutual confidence, Mr. Bridgeman, there can be no 
happiness in the marriage state." 

Mr. Bridgeman bowed very solemnly — perhaps it 
was so. 

" To be sure, he may have been ashamed of the 
sum — really, too much to w T in of anybody, and, 
more than all, of a friend." 

" Has Langshawe really confessed to having lost? 
Did he bring home no winnings?" thought Bridge- 
man. 

" Tell me, pray tell me, Mr. Bridgeman, was not 
the loss between you last night five-and-twenty 
pounds? " 

Mrs. Langshawe's manner had so surprised Bridge- 



IOO MY HUSBAND S WINNINGS. 

man, her sudden energy had so confused him, that 
the color rose to his face, and he began to stammer, 
as he thought, " It's plain Joseph has confessed his 
losses — it's plain." 

" Five-and-twenty pounds?" again pressed Mrs. 
Langshawe. 

u Not — not quite," answered Bridgeman. 

" It is true, then," cried Mrs. Langshawe ; " Mrs. 
Bridgeman's right ! " 

" Mrs. Bridgeman ! " said her husband. 

" It was she who told me the real amount of money 
lost, and not Mr. Langshawe. That Joseph should 
have won nearly five-and-twenty pounds of you — of 
you, his old, his early friend ! I shall hardly know 
how to look in Mrs. Bridgeman's face again — I 
shall — " 

To the inexpressible relief of Bridgeman — who, 
really being the winner of his friend's money, felt 
with double acuteness the reproaches inveighed 
against the innocent — Langshawe entered the apart- 
ment, — Mrs. Langshawe as instantly quitting it. 

" Bridgeman," said Langshawe, in a low voice, 
and with an accusing shake of the head, " this is 
really very wrong." 

" There's something wrong somewhere," replied 
Bridgeman. 

" My dear fellow," cried Langshawe, " if you 
wanted to account for five-and-twenty pounds to your 
wife, you needn't have laid the loss upon my 
shoulders." 

" I account to Mrs. Bridgeman ! I lose five-and- 
twenty pounds ! 'Twas just my winnings. The 



MY HUSBAND S WINNINGS. IOI 

fact is, Langshawe — not that I am under the influ- 
ence of my wife — " 

" No more am I — not at all — no man less," said 
Langshawe. " If I have fabled a little as to my win- 
nings, it was out of affection, not fear — no, no, it 
was to keep Mary happy, and the house quiet — ' 
nothing more." 

" I was about to say, if you must win large sums of 
money, you might, out of respect of the feelings of 
Mrs. Bridgeman, win them of anybody but her hus- 
band." 

" But I never win large sums ; never, never but 
once, when I told Mary that I had won thirty guineas, 
cause I wanted her to buy a pair of diamond drops, 
which otherwise she wouldn't consent to purchase. 
Never a large sum but then," said Langshawe. 

11 Nonsense ! Mrs. Langshawe feels assured at this 
minute that you won a large sum of me last night," 
cried Bridgeman. 

"And if she does," replied Langshawe, " it is be- 
cause Mrs. Bridgeman told her as much ; and who 
told Mrs. Bridgeman I needn't declare to you." 

" Langshawe," said Bridgeman, " we have known 
one another many years, and I should be sorry to 
quarrel with you." 

" Should equally regret it, Bridgeman," answered 
Langshawe ; " but when men can't keep matters like 
these to themselves — when their wives must be made 
parties to everything — there's an end of the very 
principle of manly friendship." 

" I think so too," was the gloomy reply of Bridge- 
man. 



102 MY HUSBAND S WINNINGS. 

" At all events, then, Mr. Bridgeman," said Lang- 
shawe, endeavoring to clothe his lengthened face 
with dignity, — " at all events — " Unhappily, or we 
should rather say happily, the appearance of the 
ladies not only cut short the wordy encounter of the 
gentlemen, but the smiles and beamy looks of the 
wives suddenly lighted up the faces of their husbands. 
The ladies requested that nothing more might be said 
of the matter, and hoping that their husbands would 
leave filthy cards forever, all shook hands, and, at 
the usual hour, sat down happily to dinner. 

Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeman had departed for their 
home, and Mr. and Mrs. Langshawe still sat at their 
hearth. 

" I forgive you, Joseph, this time, but never tell me 
a fib again," said the pretty Mrs. Langshawe. 
" Moreover, if you must play, promise me not to win 
of Bridgeman. His wife found out his loss in the 
oddest way : he had taken out fifty pounds to pay a 
bill, and returned home — how she discovered that I 
can't tell — with less than half the money : the bill, 
however, was not paid, for 'twas called for before he 
was up." (The truth is, that Bridgeman had not 
taken the note with him, but replaced it in his desk.) 
" When she heard that he had played with you, know- 
ing that you always won, she of course concluded 
that you had the money. And how naughty of you 
to tell me such a tale about a sovereign, and — but I 
have promised not to scold you ; " and Mrs. Lang- 
shawe patted the blushing cheek of Joseph. 

u She's a very violent woman, Mrs. Bridgeman," 
said Langshawe. 



MY HUSBANDS WINNINGS. IO3 

" Veiy : I was quite surprised at her passion — be- 
sides, it showed an avarice that — O, Joseph ! I 
wouldn't have had you keep those winnings for any 
consideration." 

" Keep them ! Why — eh ? — Mrs. Bridgeman 
seemed suddenly in excellent spirits — you never re- 
turned the money — you — " 

" Not exactly the money, Joseph," said Mrs. Lang- 
shawe, who smiled with some meaning. 

Mr. Langshawe gaped, stared, and said, " Not ex- 
actly money — what then ? M 

" O, I hit upon an excellent plan. You know my 
diamond drops that I bought out of your winnings?" 

" Thirty guineas ! " cried Joseph Langshawe, turn- 
ing a little pale. 

" Mrs. Bridgeman was always admiring them. So 
to-day, whilst you and her husband were alone, after 
a little persuasion, I induced 'Mrs. Bridgeman — to 
accept them." 

"You did, Mary?" 

" I did, Joseph ! " said Mrs. Langshawe, delighted 
at her dexterity. 

u Your diamond drops ! " cried Langshawe. 

u And as they cost thirty guineas, and as last night 
you took less than five-and-twenty of Bridgeman, 
why, his wife having the diamonds, you may now be 
said to have won less than nothing," said Mrs. Lang- 
shawe. 

" Much less," groaned Joseph. 

We believe, though we cannot vouch for him, that 
from that time Langshawe forswore cards. Of this, 



104 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 

however, we are certain ; if he did play, Mrs. Lang- 
shawe was never again perplexed with her " hus- 



band's winnings." 



1838. 



MIDNIGHT AT "MADAME T.'S." 

HE could judge little of the deep meaning of a 
very deep face, who, standing on Wednesday 
last in the lobby of Madame Tussaud's Rooms, Ba- 
ker Street, Portman Square, saw nought remarkable 
in the visage of Mr. Gabriel Marmoset as he slowly 
approached the serious money-taker. With a brood- 
ing air, he placed his left hand in his pocket, and in 
a low, sepulchral voice, demanded — " How much? " 

" Nothing, sir," said the money-taker ; " as one of 
us, you know, you are on the free list." 

" Bless me ! " exclaimed Mr. Gabriel Marmoset ; 
" and so I am. I had forgotten. My poor head ! " 
This simple incident to the thousands who delight in 
the personal acquaintance of Mr. Gabriel Marmoset 
will prove beyond anything how deep that gentleman 
was sunk in meditation. He passed into the Rooms, 
and, with vacant eye, surveyed the wax images about 
him. It was eight o'clock in the evening, and the 
Rooms, according to the promise of Madame Tus- 
saud, were " brilliantly illuminated." Almost uncon- 
scious of the presence of a throng of visitors, Mr. 
Gabriel Marmoset paced the floor ; from time to time 
pausing before the effigy of some desperado, where, 



MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 



j o5 



in the quotation tastefully adopted by Madame Tus- 
saud, might be seen his 

"Eyes, nose, lip, 
The trick of his frown, his forehead ; nay, the valley, 
The pretty dimples of chi7i and cheek ; his smiles, 
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, and finger ! " 

" Humph ! " communed Mr. Marmoset with him- 
self, looking very covetously on the image of Dennis 
Collins; "humph! he's not copyright. Something 
must be done by Christmas. A gradual falling off 
of three sixpences per night — humph ! " Then Mr. 
Gabriel Marmoset seated himself, and thought down 
" hours to minutes," and thinking, fell asleep. 

It deserves to be generally known, that with a 
proper regard to the health and morals of her visitors, 
Madame Tussaud closes her doors at ten o'clock. 
That hour was arrived, and the manager, unseen, un- 
thought of, had been locked up still in deepest slum- 
ber, dreaming of mountains of half-price sixpences — 
dreaming that all the " leaves of Vallambrosa " were 
insufficient to the demands for nightly checks. 

" Collins is not copyright — Hume is not copyright 
— none of 'em are copyright," murmured Marmoset in 
his sleep ; " I can have 'em done, and show 'em at 
threepence." As the manager spoke thus in his 
slumber, the clock struck — twelve ! 

What was the astonishment of Mr. Gabriel Marmo- 
set to find himself in the presence of living men and 
women ! Yea, surrounded by the breathing, moving 
figures he had before looked upon as insensible mat- 
ter ! Field-marshal Von Blucher stepped with heavy 
tread to Frederick William of Prussia — Francis of 



106 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 

Austria kissed his fingers to the smiling Mary Queen 
of Scots — Napoleon, touching his hat, offered his 
box to Fieschi — the " infant son of Madame Tussaud, 
which, " as she informs us, she had " the honor to 
model " expressly for the Duchess of York, called 
hastily for his "Mammy" — Daniel O'Connell ex- 
claimed, — 

u Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not 
Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow? " 

General Washington whistled " Yankee Doodle," 
and Joseph Hume commenced upon his fingers a sum 
of compound fractions. Everybody suddenly did or 
said something. The whole company appeared as 
if they had been relieved from the irksome duty of 
remaining silent in one position all day, and were 
resolved to enjoy to its full extent their midnight 
holiday. Ca ira was sung from the " Chamber of 
Horrors," Dennis Collins inveighing against all out- 
landish gibberish, and calling lustily for u the col- 
lege hornpipe." We have neither space nor leisure to 
particularize the conduct of every individual. All, 
however, seemed bent on enjoyment — on the dolce 
far niente; and none more so than all the cabinet 
ministers, past and present. 

At first, Mr. Gabriel Marmoset was abashed at the 
high company amongst whom he found himself. He 
had never seen so many kings, save those he had paid 
on a Saturday : and though a morbid modesty was 
not the disease of the manager, he nevertheless re- 
quired some minutes to raise his self-assurance. He 
was happily relieved by the observing condescension 
of Lord John Russell. 



MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 107 

Lord John. What ! as I think Mr. — 

Marmoset. Marmoset, your Lordship, of the Roy- 
al Sanguinary Theatre. If your Lordship will do me 
the honor to recollect, I was distinguished by an in- 
terview with your Lordship on three great public 
questions — the Savoyards, white mice, and barrel- 
organs. 

Lord y. I remember : you complained that they 
injured the interest of the legitimate drama. 

Mar. {Sighing:) Ha! your Lordship; there's 
no standing against foreign artists and foreign music. 
The legitimate drama — 

Lord J. By the way, Mr. Marmoset, will you do 
me a great favor? 

Mar. Is it to get up D071 Carlos ? I am very 
sorry, but my leading tragedian is at present in 
Horsemonger Lane, and — 

Lord y. No — no ; the favor I solicit is — 

Mar. To dramatize the Reform Bill? It will be 
long for a play ; but if yourself or any of your friends 
can manage to reduce it to a farce, I — 

Lord y. No — no ; the favor I ask of the kind- 
ness and intelligence of Mr. Marmoset is this. Will 
he oblige me by defining what is generally understood 
by his profession to be a legitimate drama? 

Mar. {Drawing himself up.) My Lord, that is 
a point on which I have spent more consideration than 
any man alive ! Though I say it, my Lord, there is 
no manager, from a peculiarity of circumstances, so 
capable of affording you the required information. I 
have ransacked the whole globe for attraction ; I 
may say it, I have gone, as it were, into Noah's ark 



IOS MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 

for actors. I have executed, what meaner men 
would die blushing to think of — and the result of 
my experience, after much thinking, is this ; that the 
drama is to all intents and purposes the most legiti- 
mate — you understand me, my Lord — the most 
legitimate — 

Lord J. Very good. 

Mar. That brings the most money ! I have said 
it. That brings the most money, my Lord. 

Joseph Hume. (Aside to Dennis Collins.) A 
very sensible man this. Who is he? 

Dennis Collins. (Aside, in a confidential voiced) 
Hush ! that's Marmyset, of the Sanguinary Theatre. 

Hume. Are you sure ? 

Collins. Cock ! 'cause he come to me in Reading 
gaol, and offered to buy my wooden leg for what he 
called a nistorical local drammy. 

Hmne. And didn't you sell it? 

Collins. What do you take me for, Mr. Hume? 
'Cause I was in trouble, and going over the water my- 
self, was that any reason I should disgrace my leg by 
sending it afore me? 

Lord J. And pray, Mr. Marmoset — (at this 
moment several illustrious and i?ifa?nous persons 
came up) — but allow me to introduce to your pat- 
ronage, Mr. Marmoset of the Sanguinary Theatre. 
What brings him here? I was about to ask. Can- 
dor, I can tell you, is his great characteristic — a 
simple good creature, as full of truth as his own play- 
bills. 

Mar. Oh ! my Lord. The truth then is, I came 
here to — for among friends business is not what it 



MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 109 

used to be — I came to look out for attraction. I 
came to see my way ; and to any man or men who 
can bring me one hundred and fifty pounds per night, 
I have not the slightest hesitation in offering five-and- 
forty shillings as a weekly salary. 

Lord Byron. Ha, ha ! Grey, do you want an 
engagement? {His Lordship shakes his head.} 

Napoleon. Well — man! Always had a liking 
for the stage ; would have made Racine a prince had 
he lived in my time. ( Grimly smiling.} What do 
you offer me? 

Mar. Really, General — 

Nap. General ! 

Mar. I beg your pardon ; but in the last piece 
you were always called General, and — 

Nap. Last piece ? eh — what ? 

Collins. I seed you myself in the sixpenny gal- 
lery ; and more than that — hissed you like a true- 
born Englishman. 

Mar. Quite true ; we've had you at all ages. 

Nap. Had me? 

Mar. To prove it : if you have any fancy for the 
identical hat that you wore at Marengo, you can pur- 
chase it of Mr. Moses Ragby, who lent it at two-and- 
sixpence a night to Covent Garden. 

Nap. Indeed ! 

Mar. Besides your real pocket-handkerchief from 
St. Helena, before the imperial crown was picked 
out of the corner. 

Nap. And who — who has acted me ? 

Mar. Everybody; the fact is, you are a stock 
part, and now go with the heavy old man. 



IIO MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 

Nap. Bah ! 

Prince Talleyrand, Eh, Monsieur ? dis done — est- 
il possible que — 

Mar. Beg your pardon, sir, pray speak English, 
because the gentleman who translates for me isn't 
here. 

Byron. Come, Mr. Marmoset, can you make no 
use of the Emperor? 

Mar. Don't see, my Lord, how. By the way, 
my Lord, that Sardanapalus of yours is a pretty thing 
for the closet. 

Byron. Did you ever meet with it there? 

Mar. Never, my Lord : only, as it failed upon the 
stage — that is, my Lord — I — the truth is, my Lord, 
it is always a point with gentlemen of my profession, 
when we find a piece not quite the thing for the 
boards, to praise it for the library. 

Byron. Because then you are sure never to meet 
with it — eh ? 

Mar. {Pushing his forefinger in the stoinach 
#/"Lord Byron.) You're a wag still, my Lord — 
'pon my life you are. 

Byron. And can you do nothing with poor Na- 
poleon ? 

Mar. {Aside.) Between ourselves, my Lord, 
the fleas have done for him. 

Byron. Fleas! Worms, you mean? 

Mar. No, my Lord, no : since the showmen have 
mounted him on flea-back, he's become vulgar. He's 
a drug even with the image-boys. I wouldn't hurt 
his feelings ; but at the Royal Sanguinary Theatre I 
wouldn't let him carry a banner — that is, unless he 



MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. Ill 

changed his coat, and went on without a salary. I 
wish I could hit upon something to stir the town ! Do, 
my Lord, help me to an idea. 

Byron. What do you think of engaging the House 
of Commons. 

Mar. To say the truth, that struck me ; but some 
of the railway members ask such terms, you'd think 
senators were of the same consequence as singers — 
for they positively demand nearly as high salaries. 
If you could suggest something at once new and mu- 
sical. 

Byron. What ! is cat-gut at a premium? 

Mar. Nothing like music, my Lord, in all its 
branches ; last week three traders in German bull- 
finches started each a carriage : music ! Penny 
w 7 histles sell for twopence. Something musical 
now ! 

Daniel (J Conn ell. I have it : I'll make a speech 
for you. 

Mar. Should be very happy indeed, sir : but, you 
know, you've tried at every theatre but mine : and 
I — I can't afford it. If I could get a new effect with 
a striking character ! 

Brougham. Why not put Talleyrand in a panto- 
mine ? 

Byron. Don't you hear, my Lord Vaux, that the 
manager wants something new? 

Collins. What do you say to me, my old 'un? 

Mar. Ha! Mr. Collins : if you had but taken my 
terms when the bloom of your reputation was upon 
you. 

Collins. Tell you what, old fellow ! D — n the 



112 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 

shiners ! Dennis never cared for 'em : to prove it, 
I'll do you what you like for twenty- pounds a night, 
and throw you in the ornpipe for nothing. 

Mar. Under other circumstances, Mr. Collins, I 
should have been delighted : but at present I can't 
clearly see my way. {Here the Manager sees Nmn- 
ber Seventy- Two and Seventy-Three of the collec- 
tion beckoning to him, and crosses over.) Ha ! gen- 
tlemen, if your terms are moderate — if I can see my 
way with yon — 

Seventy- Two. How much ? 

Seventy- Three. And find our own sack? 

Alar. Ha ! my dear friends, if I had only had 
you a few years ago ; but now, murder does not bring 
what it used to. I've played three assassinations and 
two forgeries this very season to less than my ex- 
penses. 

Seventy-Two. Naething sae slippery as public 
taste, ye ken. 

Seventy-Three. {Visibly affected.) You'd hardly 
believe it, Mr. Marmoset, but naebody speers at us 
now ! 

Seventy- Two. {With a sigh.) They a' gang 
into the " Chamber o' Horrors." 

Mar. {Aside, glancing towards the " Chamber") 
Yes; that — that, indeed, would be a hit. He's the 
newest upon town ; and, as I believe he is no singer, 
his terms may be met. 

John Kemble. Mr. Marmoset, are you in want of — 

Alar. Nothing at all — nothing, my dear sir, in 
your way. And yet, Mr. Kemble, if we could come 
to terms — 



MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 113 

Kemble. For a round of characters? 

Mar. Not as actor, Mr. Kemble — not as actor; 
you were very well in your time — very well indeed. 
But, ha ! Mr. Kemble, if you could write me anoth- 
er " Lodoiska" ! 

Kemble. Am I to understand that you wish to re- 
tain me solely as an author? 

Mar. Solely ; and if you will write me a quad- 
ruped piece — I have a whole menagerie at my 
disposal, besides a dancing-woman from the Chip- 
pewahs, and very good hopes of a real mer- 
maid. 

Kemble. Is there no public taste, Mr. Mar- 
moset ? 

Mar. Plenty of it, sir, if one can but be lucky 
enough to catch it. As a manager, I am bound to 
bait with everything. I had a tank made for a hippo- 
potamus ; the animal was caught, sir — was coming 
over in robust health, but — I mention no names — 
early one morning watch the creature was found 
dead. As I said, I mention no names ; but I may be 
allowed to state this curious fact — the third mate of 
the ship was proved to be own cousin to a rival mana- 
ger. The hippopotamus was flung into the sea. I 
accuse nobody — but would have given fifty pounds 
if that hippopotamus had been opened. 

Kemble. You haven't a play-bill about you, Mr. 
Marmoset ? 

Mar. There, Mr. Kemble — a little more red in 
the bills now, little bigger type, too, than we ca?z rec- 
ollect, eh? 

8 



114 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 

Kemble. {Reading- the bill.) " Overflowing 
house !" What is that, Mr. Marmoset? 

Mar. That is, sir, when the gallery — as I am 
proud to say it frequently happens at my establish- 
ment — when the galleiy runs into the boxes. In 
summer I fill 'em, as they filter water, by ascension. 

Kemble. Curious man ! Pray explain yourself. 
Ascension ! 

Afar. You see, Mr. Kemble, I've a large ventila- 
tor in the roof. I fill my pit with paper, and then 
turn the paper into shillings. Marry, how? you 
will say. Listen : When the pit is crammed full, and 
a thousand people more at the door — it sometimes 
happens — for there I give no orders, — that there's 
not a soul in the boxes ; nice, cool, airy boxes, lined 
with real scarlet serge, Mr. Kemble. The pit thus 
crammed, with the ventilator open, is only moderate- 
ly hot ; upon this, I resolutely close my ventilator ! 
The effect, Mr. Kemble, is magical ! Half the pit 
have, in five minutes, the extra money in their hands 
for the boxes — a little door, generously constructed 
for the occasion, is flung hospitably open, and the 
boxes are filled, as I say, by " ascension." That I 
call an overflowing house, Mr. Kemble. 

Kemble. And what may you call " a brilliant au- 
dience " ? 

Mar. Almost the same thing: it's when I see 
glittering in the fingers of every person in the pit an 
extra shilling for the dress boxes. 

Kemble. I see you state that the house " continues 
to be crowned to suffocation." Do you think that 
an inducement to others to be suffocated? 



MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 115 

Mar. No doubt : I'd take upon myself to make 
an air-pump popular by exactly the same advertise- 
ment 

Kemble. What do you consider " universal and 
enthusiastic shouts " ? 

Mar. When the applause is almost enough to 
drown the hisses. 

Kemble. And what the " most fashionable audi- 
ence of the season " ? 

Mar. When the hackney-coaches in front of the 
theatre outnumber the cabs. 

Kemble. And do you think the town believes all 
this? 

Mar. To speak out, Mr. Kemble, I don't think it 
does. 

Ke?nble. Then why, my dear sir — why continue 
to print it? 

Mar. That's very well — very well, indeed, of 
you : but, when a manager has lied for years togeth- 
er, you can't think how impossible it is for him to 
speak the truth. Bless you ! he wouldn't believe him- 
self if he did. Can you suggest nothing, Mr. Kem- 
ble? 

Kemble. Here is something — lent to me last 
night by my neighbor here. " Seventy-Two." 

Mar. Ha! It looks like a MS., eh? What? 
" The Terrific Tapeworm," a domestic drama of 
peculiar interest, by Dr. M n ! 

Seventy- Tzco. He came here yestreen, and while 
he was feeling the knobs on my skull, I dips my 
hand into his pocket ! 

Mar. And here are parts, and all copied out. Gen- 



Il6 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'S. 

tlemen — friends — will you go through the piece ? 
" The Terrific Tapeworm ! " The name's enough. 
Gentlemen, allow me to cast the drama. {Distribut- 
ing the parts?) 

Collins. I say, messmate — (about to return the 
part) — this here's no use to me ; I can't read. 

Mar. My dear sir, in the present state of things 
that's not of the slightest consequence. Now, gen- 
tlemen, " The Terrific Tapeworm " ! There must 
be something in such a title. Now, gentlemen : 
Scene first — Enter 



In three seconds after this Mr. Marmoset awoke ; 
but — and the phenomenon has been satisfactorily ac- 
counted for in the philosophy of dreams — in that 
space of time, the whole domestic drama was per- 
fectly represented, the gentlemen "having kindly 
undertaken their several parts at the shortest no- 
tice." 

Happily Mr. Marmoset retains a vivid recollection 
of every syllable of the piece ; but, too distrustful of 
himself, has retained us to look to the minute points 
of orthography, and to soften the severity of his punc- 
tuation. 

The drama itself he has not yet dictated to us ; but, 
with a fine sense of gratitude, he has already sent the 
following dedication of the forthcoming pages to the 
printer : — 



MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. Il7 

"TO MADAME TUSSAUD, 

WHO, 

"With an enlarged Humanity, 

Takes for her Models 

The best and basest of mankind; 

AND WHO 

Unreservedly mingling them together, 

Extracts from the whole 

The good that all men seek, 

This Drama 

is gratefully dedicated." 

Thus much for the dedication. And though we 
are not able, at the present moment, to lay the drama 
before the reader, we are happy to state that we can 
afford him some matter for reasonable speculation on 
its deep character and diversified interest in the fol- 
lowing address of thanks to the actors employed, sea- 
soned with criticisms on their various talents and 
imperfections. The manager (who, without any 
compunction, puts himself in the place of author) 
says, — 

" How difficult is it to particularize where almost 
all alike demand our thanks ! How hard the task to 
vary eulogy where nearly everybody is to be praised ! 
Never, never, since Thespis begged grease for his 
cart-wheel, has author been so bowed with obligation. 
Turn my thoughts where they will, they meet a cred- 
itor. Let 'me, however, — hard as may be the task, 
imperfect as may be my words, — strive at best to 
stammer my gratitude ! 

" To his Grace, the Duke of Wellington, I can nev- 
er sufficiently express my thanks : first, for the con- 
descension he displayed in accepting a part so mani- 



Il8 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 

festly below his genius ; and next, for the importance 
he gave to it. The part was a part of lines ; but how 
great was his Grace in the lines ! 

" Napoleon was, perhaps, never so much at home 
as in his low comedy with Fieschi. All his by-play 
showed him to be a perfect master of his art. The 
playful manner in which he pulled Voltaire by the 
nose must form one of the most endearing and de- 
lightful recollections of all who beheld it* Truly 
does Madame T., in her historical and eloquent 
catalogue, say of him, ' Unlike his person, which was 
small, his mind was that of a giant ! ' If this gen- 
tleman would but cultivate his singing, he would be a 
very great acquisition to opera ; for though his organs 
are weak, they are extremely mellifluous. He has, 
unfortunately, too great diffidence in making use of 
them. 

" To Sir Francis Burdett, for having undertaken, 
at a very short notice, a part so infinitely below 
him, I ought to pay volumes of acknowledgment. 
The part was a very trifling one ; but how much can 
the baronet make of a little ! 

" Oliver Cromwell, as the frank, light-hearted lover, 
exhibited the tender passion, even to the married, in 
the most favorable view ; whilst his scene at the tav- 
ern displayed all that buoyancy of heart, that gener- 
osity of spirit, and delicacy of sentiment, hifherto con- 
sidered by the superficial as incompatible with ex- 
treme drunkenness. The illusion was perfect : to 
hear him drop his words was to listen to the wine 

* It will be seen that Mr. Marmoset writes as if "The Tapeworm" had 
already been represented to "a brilliant and overflowing audience. " 



MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. II9 

running from the bottle. It is plain that nature in- 
tended him to play the very highest comedy. 

" To Mr. J. P. Kemble, for the undisguised manner 
in which, throughout the play, he exhibited his skull, 
I beg to return my sincere thanks. He, I know, will 
think the exhibition of an entire skull but a small 
matter to obtain praise ; but I, who, unhappily, 
know how very few actors can, for a whole night, 
be induced to show the least part of one, am happy 
to express to him my enlarged sense of obliga- 
tion. 

" Lord Byron, from his excessive timidity, pre- 
vented the display of what I will venture to predict 
to be a very respectable talent. If he would but 
borrow a little of the wild jollity of William Penn, 
he would give a flavor to his otherwise too quiet 
humor. 

" Sir Walter Scott only wants encouragement to 
become really a tolerable favorite. He delivered a 
message in a manner that almost surprised me. It is 
charming to watch the early development of talent. 
With great study, great time, and some luck, Sir 
Walter may become a very useful person in general 
utility. 

"Mr. Washington, as a rebel drummer, elicited 
scintillations of lambent humor. It is sometimes so 
difficult td judge of young beginners ! but I think Mr. 
Washington will do. 

" If Prince Talleyrand were not so nervous, I 
should have high hopes of him. I much fear, how- 
ever, that mauvaise honte will utterly blast his pros- 
pects in life. 



120 MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T.'s. 

" Mr. Joseph Hume played his part to perfection. 
His address to a milk-score showed the artist. 

" I regret that I cannot praise Lord Nelson. There 
is not one particle of salt in his sailors : they are all 
landsmen, with frogs in their throats. In low comedy 
he might stand a chance. 

"Monsieur Voltaire might be tolerated as Panta- 
loon : in no other character can he ever be accepted. 
I never knew so dull a person — that is, when he 
speaks. 

" Neither Charles Fox nor George Canning can 
be trusted with a single line. I never heard such 
speakers. 

" Mr. William Pitt plays too much like a proprie- 
tor ; he is always looking up as if ' counting the gal- 
leries/ 

" I have now to return my most sincere — most 
unqualified thanks to gentlemen who, true to their 
engagements, have withstood the base and unmanly 
temptations of unprincipled rivals. 

" My thanks, then, are especially due to Mr. Den- 
nis Collins — not only for the magnanimity with 
which he spurned the offers of a hostile manager, but 
for the quiet humor with which he dealt his harm- 
less sarcasms about him ; for the agility with which 
he danced his hornpipe, (I was proud to hear the 
applause of Mr. T. P. Cooke — it was hearty, gener- 
ous) ; and, indeed, for the sweet cheerfulness with 
which he performed all his arduous duties. 

" There are other gentlemen (Seventy-Two and 
Seventy-Three) — whose names, out of respect to 
their extreme modesty, I suppress — to whom I am 



MIDNIGHT AT MADAME T. S. 121 

bound in everlasting gratitude. Every machination 
was employed to deprive me of the services of those 
gentlemen ; but they magnanimously spurned every 
offer in favor of the highest bidder. 

" To another gentleman, a distinguished inhabitant 
of the i Chamber of Horrors/ I am especially in- 
debted. Every manager was on tiptoe to receive 
him ; but he had given his word — and he could give 
no more. 

" To the ' talented ' Madame Tussaud, and her no 
less ' talented ' sons, for their extraordinary ana* unu- 
sual courtesy in not ' suspending the free list,' in 
consequence of ' the great attraction ' of the last cor- 
ner (number three) in the ' Chamber of Horrors,' — 

" In fine, to everybody concerned or not concerned 
in the representation of The Terrific Tapeworm, I 
beg to express the highest, the deepest, the broadest, 
and the largest sense of my esteem and my respect. 

" G. M. 
" Bowl and Dagger Cottage. " 

We look with inexpressible anxiety for the MS. it- 
self; as it is evident from the above that the drama 
contains an extraordinary variety of parts, we are 
impatient to enjoy the happy art of the writer who 
has so cunningly introduced them, and bound them 
in one common interest by the peculiar originality 
of his fable. 

Awaiting this, we seize the opportunity of stating, 
on our own account, that — in consequence of a great 
loss of property, and therefore of rank in life (hav- 
ing been a large shareholder, and principal director, 



122 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS* 

with two or three eminent sheriff's officers, in the late 
Aerostation Company) — we superintend the birth of 
books of any size and on any subject. We therefore 
beg to assure the literary nobility, gentry, and public 
in general, that we continue to dot i's and cross fs 
on the lowest terms, and with the greatest possible 
despatch. 

Please to direct (post paid) " H. B., Esq.,* Red 
Herring Alley, Moorfields." 

1837. 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE 
PUPILS. 

THREE fathers had each a son — they were 
determined, come what might, that the boys 
should be wisely taught — in other words, should be 
instructed in the mode of getting on. They made 
all inquiries after a teacher, but, for some time, with 
no success : one was too poor, and therefore incapable 
of instruction ; another, too merry ; good-nature was 
a losing quality. At length they heard of a person 
anxious, and, they believed, well fitted to take charge 
of youth. The parents Hastened to the scholar's 
abode ; it was a miserable hut in the middle of a 
marsh : the croak of frogs and buzz of flies were the 
only sounds heard about the master's dwelling, which 
was guarded by a little ugly cur, that, yelping at the 

* Henry Brownrigg, Esq., Jerrold's occasional nom de plume in The New 
Monthly Magazine. — Ed. 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 23 

approach of the visitors, caused its master to throw 
open the casement, and reveal himself to the view of 
those who sought him. 

He was a man of about sixty — his whole appear- 
ance wild and meagre. His face seemed sharp and 
bloodless — the dry, yellow skin, tightened over his 
high cheek bones, came into more ghastly relief from 
a dead-black eye. His brow was seamed with 
wrinkles. His hair, of speckled black and gray, 
drooped in unsocial lankness. His beard seemed 
half-rusted wire. His long, naked arms were fear- 
fully muscular ; and his nails hooked as the bill of a 
parrot. He was employed feeding a nest of owlets, 
with some crushed snails, before him. Looking up at 
his visitors, he smiled, and displayed two rows of 
huge teeth, of pearly whiteness. He opened the door, 
and the visitors entered the tutor's habitation. It 
consisted of one room, grotesquely furnished ; Indian 
flies were pinned to the walls — here was the jaw 
of a shark — there a tiger's skin — with snakes of all 
sorts, wreathed in knots, hanging around. In one 
corner of the hovel was the miser's bed — a heap of 
rags, with, an account-book for a pillow. A mess 
of adder broth was on the fire, to which old Rapax 
(for so was the tutor called) invited the appetites of 
his visitors. " There are eels," said he ; u but ad- 
ders go the farthest." 

The bargain was soon closed. Rapax was to have 
the children ; and, next morning, Scowl, Topaz, and 
Blitheheart set out for their future master's dwelling. 
Topaz laughed as he stood on the other side of a 
ditch fronting the tutor's hut ; then springing over, he 



124 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

relapsed into a gloom as he approached the habita- 
tion. Scowl neither paused nor smiled, but dashed 
sulkily over, following his companion in silence. 
Blitheheart had tarried behind, gathering a w r ater-lily 
— now, he comes, skipping along, bounds across, 
and arrives at his future school almost ere he sees 
it. Rapax was leaning through the window, pursu- 
ing his occupation of yesterday. " You are wel- 
come," said he ; " enter. — And you, sir " (addressing 
himself to Scowl), " come, feed my owlets." 

" Feed owlets ! Not I, by the rusty holiness of 
your beard. Feed owlets ! " 

" You, young sir" (to Topaz), " will perhaps take 
the office?" 

" An' they were a nest of linnets for a pretty 
daughter of yours, indeed would I ; but owlets are 
not young men's birds." 

" Gentle youth," said Rapax, turning to Blithe- 
heart, "will you assist me?" 

" Willingly, sir," replied the boy ; " but shew me 
the fashion." 

The old man muttered to himself, " Humph ! — 
scornful, jesting, and ingenious! Well, well — the 
same end by different ways." Then to the youths, — 
" But to our business. Enter ; here we must lose 
nothing, and we have squandered away ten minutes 
without a purchase." 

" I marvel," said Topaz, " at your exact calcula- 
tion — for I see no dial here." 

"Nature's clock, young man — thus," answered 
Rapax, as he placed his finger to his wrist. " Can 
there be a better monitor than our pulse? — spurs it 
not to action? — clamors it not against idleness? " 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 25 

" No," replied Scowl ; " it rather tells us of the 
uselessness of employment, for every pulsation is but 
the knell of life gone try." 

" Prithee, good father, what are you to teach us? 
Come, whistle for your dragon, and let us to the 
moon." 

" My business is not in the clouds, young man." 

" Shall we sail with you in a cockle-shell? Are 
you a sea-magician? I should like to string pearls 
with mermaids mightily," said Blitheheart. 

" Nor can I fathom the ocean," observed Rapax. 

"Will you then take us into the mines of earth? 
Shall we play at hustle-cap with diamonds? Shall 
we go into the earth ? " asked Scowl. 

" Ay, in good time." 

u Truly, yes," sneered Topaz, " and without your 
necromancy. — Come, what will you teach us? " 

" To be rich." 

64 Then why art not rich thyself? " said Scowl. 

" How know you that I am not? I am rich." 

" Are you so?" answered Scowl, with bitterness. 
— " Poor man*! " and he looked sneeringly at the 
wretched abode. 

" He who hoards gold," replied Rapax, " does it 
not for the insensible love of its glitter ; but he looks 
abroad — he sees of what the eminence of human 
flesh is composed — he scrapes together wealth — 
and knowing that he can be splendid when he may, 
cares not to be so. Such am I." 

u And this mystery," said Scowl, " you are to teach 
us? How?" 

" Enter and learn." 



126 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

The youths entered the hut, and they seemed as 
though struck with sudden plague. The old man 
took from a little box a piece of brilliant gold, im- 
pressed with cabalistic figures ; and throwing it upon 
the table, desired the youths to look at it. " What 
think you of this metal? Each answer me. What 
is it?" 

Scowl unceremoniously took it from the table, and 
throwing it up, and catching it in his hand, again 
cast it down scornfully, muttering, " Gold — the 
price of human brains ! " 

" But do you not value it? " demanded Rapax. 

" I hate myself and all the world, that I must 
sometimes value this piece of ore beyond the flower 
or pebble trodden under foot. I value it not — but 
scorn it as I bow to it." 

u And you, young man? " said Rapax, glancing to 
Topaz. 

" I look on this metal," answered the youth, " and 
I say to myself — ' This life is a mockery ; man hath 
made it a miserable one ; and then he forms a partial 
antidote to its wretchedness, to be obtained by guilt, 
folly, or craft/ Well, I have this antidote. I ask, 
' How can I use it to pleasure me?' Fancy gives 
the answer, and — farewell gold ! " 

" For me," said Blitheheart, " were I in a meadow, 
or by a road-side, with this gold in my hand, and 
some miserable wretch, with pistol at my head, 
should ask me for the coin, Fd freely give it him ; 
and, pitying his poverty who made gold his only 
wealth, Fd raise my empty hands towards heaven, 
and in the lasting beauty of creation, count me 
beyond all princes — rich ! " 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 27 

" Look on this gold," cried Rapax, in a deep, com- 
manding voice. — There was fascination in the metal. 
The youths looked silently and intensely ; their souls 
w^ere in their eyes, and they were spell-bound. Their 
bosoms heaved, their mouths gaped, their fingers 
clutched the air, and tears rolled down their cheeks. 
The fiend had entered their hearts. The old man's 
face was wrinkled with delight, and* a ghastly smile 
lurked at his shrivelled lips. The youths were 
changed, as if by magic — they were the bondsmen 
of sin and rapine ! 

It was evening when the scholars quitted the hut. 
The old man gave to each a piece of coin. They 
had not proceeded far ere they were accosted by a 
wretched, starving woman, with a half-naked babe. 
She first addressed herself to Scowl — " In the name 
of Heaven, young sir, and as you hope to change this 
miserable world for one where sorrow never enters, 
give me charity for the sake of my poor babe ! " 

" And will you live to beg? — in the grave there is 
independence. Seek it ! " — and Scowl passed on- 
ward. 

The woman then turned to Topaz. "You are 
merry, my good woman ; you w r ill but try us ! Have 
beauty, yet ask for charity? Go to cities — go to 
cities ! " 

She then appeared to Blitheheart. He was about 
to speak — then paused, and at length stammered an 
excuse — " he had no money." 

The youths proceeded on their way. For a time 
they were silent. At length Scowl observed, " Sure- 
ly our master works by magic — else I had not denied 



128 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

that woman. But a short time, and though I frowned 
at man and all his wants, yet would I have taken out 
my purse, and, laughing at the objections of nature, 
emptied its contents to the crowd, to see them — like 
hungry fowls for barley — fight, and peck, and sidle 
for the grain. Now I would dash among the feeders, 
and scaring them hence, fill my own pouch with 
their corn, even though it grew mouldy whilst its 
rightful owners starved. A short time since, I 
scorned the world's misery and corruption — now 
I will prey upon them. My heart is, on a sudden, 
hard and moistureless. Good thoughts have van- 
ished from my brain — tears are dried up in mine 
eyes." 

" And where I would have smiled or meditated," 
said Topaz, " now I would sneer and answer groans 
with jibes." 

" Never before," cried Blitheheart, " could I have 
resisted that woman's appeal. I told a lie, and yet I 
did not blush. Surely we are bewitched ! " 

44 But awakened to reason," replied Scowl. " The 
film is taken from our eyes. The eye of worldly 
reason looks farther into earth than the vision of 
romantic youth pierces the heavens." 

" How long," asked Blitheheart, " do our wise 
fathers propose to keep us at this academy? When 
are we to enter the world? " 

" I know not — but soon, I hope," said Topaz ; 
'• for I long to have a match with its cunning 
creatures." 

" All in good time," remarked Scowl. " We are 
a while to look on the game before we play. Fare- 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 29 

well ; the night is coming on — and now her gew- 
gaws have no charms for me. Good night!" — and 
each betook him to a different route, although one 
road led to their several habitations. 

Every morning brought the scholars to Rapax. 
The fathers — though they complained of a growing 
lack of obedience in their children — could find no 
fault with the progress of their education. Indeed, 
they were charmed with their scholarship — they had 
grown so subtle and so disputative ! Rapax was a 
rare master ! 

One morning, as Scowl was about to visit the 
pedagogue, a girl — a young and beautiful girl — 
stood in the pupil's path. "Jane ! " he exclaimed, in 
a tone of mingled wonder and remorse. He glared 
fiercely at the girl, and her lineaments searched by 
his eyes awakened thoughts and images maddening 
and confounding. He threw himself upon a bank, 
and groaned heavily. "Jane ! " he repeated. The 
girl was at his side. His manner became more com- 
posed and solemn. He shook his head, as the eyes 
of Jane seemed eagerly to penetrate his mystery — he 
shook his head, and with a sickly smile exclaimed, 
" You seek in vain." 

" Alas ! have you not happiness ? " mournfully 
inquired the girl. 

"What is that?" answered Scowl — "that same 
enigma, happiness? — that common jilt — that sound 
of all lips — that mockery of all hearts? Fools lisp 
its name, and gray-bearded men crimp their wrinkled 
visages, and clasp their yellow hands, and look at the 
sky when this happiness is named. What is it? I 
9 



130 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

would learn — thou art a fair teacher. Have you 
known it ? — what was it like ? — how was it 
called ?" 

" Once I thought it bore the lineaments of your affec- 
tion ; I thought its name was yours — your love ! " 

" My love ! Pshaw ! I have neither face nor form 
for woman's sublimer fancies. On my brow there are 
no curls to catch fair ladies' hearts ; my lips are not 
honeyed, but steeped in gall ; I am puny — misshapen 

— not at all the creature for a fair one's love." 

" Thou knowest my heart — thou knowest it 
wholly thine!" 

" I might have loved you once — but now.,— Away, 
girl ! Seek some pliant, thoughtless fool, who marries 
from fashion, because his neighbor weds, or his own 
blood burns. Show not to me Love's wreath of 
flowers — my breath would taint the buds — my eye 
wither them ! " 

" O, what a change is this ! " exclaimed the heart- 
broken girl. " I ask not for myself — do as you will. 
But your parents — why are you thus changed 
towards them ? " 

" Parents ! I have none- — they divorced me from 
them — they drove me from their hearth, and placed 
me with another. He has taught me to scorn them 

— or at least to value them but as the common mass 
around me. Yet there is one I love — thanks to my 
good master ! — whom I love — dearly, fiercely love ; 
to whom I would sacrifice father, mother, thee — all 
ties that keep me to the world — all thoughts of man 
and man's affection — " 

" And who — what is it hath this fearful love? " 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 131 

" Self! That is my god ! I make all else bow 
down and worship it ! Farewell — we part forever. 
When you see me turn yonder hedge, think me fallen 
into an unfathomable gulf. Farewell ! " 

" Stay I " exclaimed the girl ; and then, in speech- 
less agony, she held forth her clasped hands, looking 
imploringly at Scowl, who retreated a pace or two, 
and, with calm brutality, surveyed her posture of 
frenzy and despair. 

" Truly," said he, " an inspired modern Sibyl ! 
Your attitude has all the eloquence of speechless 
misery; and yet I think the neck is too — " (She 
shrunk back.) — " So — well improved ! Now, would 
I were a sculptor ! I would carve your image thus, to 
say my — ha ! ha ! — my prayers to — a stone ! You 
would be a fitting partner for my heart. Seek you a 
human husband. All affections are dead within me 

— all feeling save one — an eternal and all-consum- 
ing pang — the pang of hunger — the longing after 
gold ! " 

" You ambitious of such dross ! — you, who 
have — " 

11 Laughed, mocked at it. My master hath taught 
me better. Mark me, girl — then shun me. So wild, 
so universal, is this' craving after wealth, that, did I 
think these yellow locks could, by chemical art, be 
made to yield one grain of gold — could your heart's 
last drop be petrified by death into a gem, although I 
saw beseeching angels kneel around you, I'd lock my 
hand within your hair — tear forth your living heart 

— and leave you, tombless, to the birds. Have I 
not said enough?" 



132 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

He spoke to a senseless image. The girl fell, 
stricken by misery, to the earth ; and the student 
pursued his way to the hut of the schoolmaster. 

"How now, son?" said Rapax ; "why thus 
late? What have you to show in exchange for so 
much time? " 

" A woman's broken heart," returned Scowl. 

" Ha, ha ! " — and the haggard fiend crowed in 
the laugh — " put it by with the baubles. But come, 
what say you, my lads? — we have tarried long 
enough here? Are you for moving? Will you all 
follow me? " 

"We will!" was the sudden and unanimous re- 
sponse. 

" Then," said the master, "prepare to meet me at 
twelve to-night upon the beach. I have skiff, sail, 
and compass. By my art I have learned, that where 
the sun sets is gold ; and thither we will steer. Bid 
adieu to your friends, and be punctual." 

" Adieu ! " muttered Scowl. " As surely as the 
wave breaks upon the beach, so surely will I be 
there. For adieus! — But no matter. I say I will 
be there." 

" And I," said Topaz. 

" And I," cried Blitheheart, " will but run home to 
see what I may pick up to help me on the voyage, 
and then for the ocean." 

The young men departed from * the hut, and the 
master busied himself securing his bags of gold, his 
jewels, with provisions, and all else needful for the 
enterprise. 

The night came. Scowl was the first at the ap- 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 33 

pointed spot. It was a narrow point, jutting into the 
sea, which beat over vast fragments of rocks fallen 
from the surrounding precipices. The night was 
chilly; the moon and stars were in the skies — yet 
there seemed a desolation in the heavens. The 
heavy beating of the waves was in monotonous ac- 
cordance with the apathy of his soul, who, seated on 
the rock, raised his eyes from the deep to the cloud- 
veiled moon, as though they asked^ " Why moves 
this water?" The moon returns him in mystery to 
the wave ; and the sea-weed, that listlessly he plucks 
from the rock, adds to the whole riddle, and all is 
darkness. His existence seemed to pause in the 
question of u What is existence?" Night seemed 
again to shed some part of its former influence over 
him. After vainly venturing to search the hidden 
springs of nature — the wave's motion, the wind's 
chamber, the moon's glorious light — he wept at his 
darkness. He lay, for a time, the smarting penitent 
to nature, stricken down by self-accusation, whilst 
compunction triumphed over him, and like the 
scorpion near the flame, he writhed, stung with his 
own venom. He prayed for the rock to yawn and 
swallow him ; he asked for annihilation, or to change 
his being with the weed or shell-fish clinging to the 
cliff. His prayers were scoffed — he still must live,, 
and bear the human stamp. 

Thus for a time he lay, passively suffering the em- 
braces of one who had watched and followed his 
steps where even the nest seeking school-boy had 
feared to tread. By degrees, the vacant look of 
Scowl changed from its wandering dulness, and his 



134 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

eyes flashed fire. He looked with a demon's glance 
at the girl ; and, his voice rattling in his throat, he 
cried, " Have I not said enough? " 

The girl answered not. She sank upon her knees, 
and, pale and trembling, with outstretched hands and 
averted head, in silence waited her destiny. Scowl, 
raising himself from the rock, hurried to and fro on 
the little space allowed by the uneven surface — then 
stopping and looking at the girl, he exclaimed, 
"Jane ! " She turned her face towards his, but rose 
not. "Jane, you have seen me weep — have heard 
me groan ; you have beheld me snatch in hope at the 
fruits of heaven, and heard my teeth gnash at finding 
them ashes ; you have twisted a shining serpent in 
my path ; you have — " And he approached her 
with madness in his features. 

"O God! and will you?" shrieked the girl, as, 
trembling, she seized the arm that grasped her. 

" What ! fear you death ? Look at the beach be- 
neath. But a moment, and, when your fragile form 
shall dash upon its bed, you will be as insensible as 
the pebble you displace. The rising tide will bear you 
to the ocean's vault ; and — ha, ha ! — sighing nymphs 
will mourn the love-murdered maid. Why have you 
haunted me? Was it not enough that I gave up 
heaven, man's social feelings — pity? love, benevo- 
lence? Did I not already stand the grim, uncouth 
image of man ? — must the mockery be painted with 
blood?" 

" Are your wishes blood ? " replied the girl, for a 
moment moved beyond herself; " I thought they 
were gold ! " 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 135 

" And gold is blood ! " fiercely answered Scowl. 
" Could gold weep for the means by which men 
obtain it, a new Red Sea would swallow misers in 
their homes." 

" I have gold. Here " (and she presented to 
Scowl a small, well-filled leathern bag) — " here is 
gold — madness — infamy eternal ! Ask not how I 
gained it ! " 

" Girl ! what have you done? " 

" Loved you — lost myself! " 

" That woman so should fall ! But, come, let me 
know your story — else, unwittingly, I may want 
gratitude." 

" This gold — I thought my heart would stop, my 
arm be palsied, as I touched it — was my father's. 
It is — O ! shall I say — it is my husband's ! " 

" Husband ! I must trudge and sneak about the 
world, filching from all men. A wife is an en- 
cumbrance to a social ruffian. Were I a proclaimed 
bandit, then you should be my robber-queen — should 
kiss nvy sword for good fortune when I went forth, 
and wash my hands from blood at my return. But I 
cannot war so. I take your offering, but leave your 
hand for another." 

" O Heaven ! you cannot mean ! — Scowl ! I have 
lost all for you ! I must — I will follow you ! — 
O, look not so, for you qannot madden me. — Be 
merciful ! " 

" I will. Jane, this is your dying hour ! Say, is 
not death sweet amid these rocks, with the waves and 
the stars to witness the fleeting soul? " 

" Death ! — O ! to die with guilt so newly on me ! 
Heaven have mercy ! Save me — save me ! " 



I36 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

Scowl seized the shrieking girl, who, after a short 
struggle, broke from his grasp, and rushed to a higher 
point of the rock. He follows her ; she falls ; and 
the next moment the beach bears a mangled corse ! 

A low, long whistle echoed among the rocks. 
Scowl leapt from point to point, gained the beach, 
and there beheld his master and his comrades. He 
threw himself into the skiff, and plied violently at the 
oar, as though he would numb the mind's action by 
bodily exertion.' 

For a time they proceeded in silence. At length 
Rapax exclaimed, "What! lads homesick already? 
What! Scowl — dull?" 

" Have I proved dull since we first met? " 

" In truth, no ; you are an apt scholar." 

" 'Tis well you had me. Had I learned from 
another master, I might have been as great a spend- 
thrift as I will now be miser. — But whither are we 
bound, and with whom are we to mingle ? " 

u Our destined land," replied the master, " is a 
fruitful one, and the inhabitants as nature made them. 
They worship the stars, and offer fruits, flowers, and 
shells to the spirits of air, earth, and ocean. Their 
land is a bloodless one, and their lives pass in the con- 
stant intercourse of what civilization calls benevo- 
lence ! " 

" What ! " said Scowl, " have they no holiness? — 
holiness that burns and tortures one another? So, 
then, be my trade hypocrisy ! " 

"I," said Topaz, " will teach them to divide and 
subdivide their lands. I will show them how to 
make man-traps and spring-guns, and how (best art!) 
to make a mystery of common sense." 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PU.PILS. 137 

"And I," cried Blitheheart, "will create disease, 
and then be physician infallible." 

" Truly," said Scowl, " our vessel hath a goodly 
freight — superstition, law-making, and physic ! " 

" Welcome to your inheritance ! I give this land to 
your practices ! " exclaimed Rapax, as he pointed to 
the shore, which, with miraculous speed, they had 
alread}' approached. 

. Followed by his pupils, he pursued his way into the 
island. At length they beheld a multitude of people 
seated on the grass. The women were lovely, and 
the men seemed worthy of their partners ; their limbs 
indicated a pliant vigor, and in their features was 
that dauntless independence which surely adorned 
men in the early day. 

It were long and vain to tell the means by which 
the strangers lured the people from their happiness 
and independence — by which they set parent against 
child, and child against father. In fine, the land was 
civilized ; slaves were made, and taxes were levied ; 
some few fed to repletion, whilst thousands pined and 
died with hunger. Rapax and his scholars controlled 
the wx>rk. Trees were felled — houses built — -the 
earth ransacked for iron for locks and bars, and 
swords, and bayonets. Palaces arose — then an in- 
quisition, halls of justice, and a school of anatomy. 
There were several prisons, and some admirable 
powder manufactories. There were likewise tax- 
gatherers and executioners. The people were civi- 
lized. 

At length the seeming divinity of the task-masters 
became a question. Some brave hearts spoke out. 

" What ! " said they, u are millions to be fools and 



138 THE ( TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

wretches, that some two or three may be idlers and 
knaves ? " 

At length King Rapax — for king he was — ap- 
proached the crisis of mortality. He ordered his 
riches to be displayed about his chamber, and his 
blood-shot eye gleamed with horrible delight as he 
beheld the glittering heaps to which his soul was yet 
adhering ; and he grasped a handful of gold even 
whilst its tinkling was responded to by the, convulsive 
rattles in the miser's throat. When death gave the 
last charge,- Rapax screamed and groaned, as though 
he would fight him still ; and, in the agony, he 
crushed the metal in his hand till the blood started 
from the withered flesh. Tearing away his vest- 
ments, he threw himself amidst a heap of gold, as 
though there he could defy his follower ; and as he 
writhed among the ore, he scrambled for the jewels 
and the vessels that were about him, supplicating the 
assistance of the beholders to stand before him and 
his foe. A terrific laugh of triumph extended his 
jaws, as he stretched forth his hand to seize a massive 
piece of gold to hide his head from the attack. Just 
as, with almost supernatural force, he poised the 
weight above him, his eyes start — his tongue works 
in his mouth — the ore rattles with the struggle of his 
limbs — and the uplifted mass, falling with a crash, 
thunders the knell of the miser ! 

The ministers paused not a moment. The ghastly 
corse, heaped round about by gold, appalled them 
not. Each was rushing on to take possession — when 
shouts were heard — then the trample of multitudes. 
The doors were burst open, and the people, thronging 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 139 

onward, recoiled as they beheld the naked body of 
their dead enslaver. The pupils, one and all, pounced 
upon a small casket still held in the gripe of the 
corse. Scowl was master of the prize, and, in an 
instant, eluding the vigilance of the populace, disap- 
peared. Topaz and Blitheheart likewise escaped. 
The streets were empty — the houses deserted : the 
old men, women, and children had been removed, 
under a strong guard, to a secure retreat, whilst the 
attack was made upon Rapax and the younger des- 
pots. Scowl, with two or three of his minions, tossed 
burning brands into the unguarded habitation ; the 
winds rose, the flames raged, and destruction seemed 
to hover over the devoted city. Again Scowl led on 
his mercenaries ; again he was defeated. The dwell- 
ings consecrated to the fair stranger-deities (for 
such Rapax and his pupils had been deemed) were 
consumed to ashes — nearly all who fought for the 
bad cause, relentlessly slaughtered. A few, faithful 
in adversity, by Scowl's orders launched the boat 
which here first touched the island, and which had 
been venerated as something little less than sacred. 
There was no other refuge save the howling sea for 
the gold-worshipper. All day he lay hidden ; and, 
when night came, he hurried timidly to the spot 
where, in an obscure creek, lay the boat. His at- 
tendants were waiting his arrival. Scowl, unwilling 
to venture with such a number in so fragile a bark, " 
despatched all, save one, to his late hiding-place, in 
the excuse of having left there a treasure of great 
value. No sooner had the party quitted him, than 
he leaped into a boat, and, bidding the man follow, 



IAO THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

was launching the craft into the sea, when his name 
was called, and, looking round, he observed his com- 
panions, Topaz and Blitheheart, rise from a pit which 
they had dug in the sand. 

" My brother ! " said Blitheheart, " we have watched 
for you. Let us away from this cursed spot ! " and, 
approaching, they were about to enter the boat. 

'■' Stay ! " said Scowl ; " this is all mine. Shall I 
not be rewarded for my work? What do you give 
for your passage ? " 

" You do but jest! What! friends barter for an 
act of grace ! " 

" I jest not. Pay me, and you shall make the voy- 
age. Offer to palter, or to touch the gunwale of the 
craft, and — " 

As he spoke out, he seized the oar, and stood in the 
act to strike. 

" I will humor you, though you do but jest," 
groaned Blitheheart ; and he gave him some twenty 
gems. 

"More! more!" exclaimed the insatiate Scowl. 
Blitheheart fairly quivered with hate, as he sur- 
rendered up all his hoard to the griping hand of 
Scowl, who then permitted him to take his seat in 
the boat. 

" Surely you will not leave me ! " cried Topaz, in 
an agony of fear. 

" Ay, will I," replied Scowl, " unless you pay." 

"Alas! I have no means. I have lost all — all! 
But my future profits shall be yours." 

" I am no speculator, brother," answered Scowl, 
with malicious coolness, at the same time pushing 
the boat from the strand. 



• THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 141 

" Blitheheart ! will you pay my passage? " screamed 
Topaz, as he waded into the sea, stretching his hand 
tow T ards the drifting skiff. 

Blitheheart turned aside his head. Topaz, in 
madness, seized the boat. Scowl, catching up a 
sword, struck at the petitioner just above the wrist. 
With a piercing howl, he let go his hold — his hand 
hung but by the slightest filament ! His shrieks were 
lost in a sudden shout. The party of Scowl were 
seen rushing down the beach, followed by the enraged 
multitude. His followers begged Scowl to return — 
he laughed ! One of the men, seizing a musket, fired ; 
but, missing his aim, wounded the innocent compan- 
ion of Scowl and Blitheheart. The man was, in an 
instant, tossed into the sea ; the sail was hoisted ; the 
wind sprang up ; and on the boat flew from the 
island. The passengers heard the tumult of the 
affray — clash of swords — groans and maledictions. 
The boat sailed on : they were shortly girted round 
by the wild and dreary sea. 

And the islanders were civilized. They knew the 
value of gold and iron : tliey bought slaves with the 
one, and made war with the other. They had prisons 
for debtors : and they could kill at two hundred 
paces. They were civilized ! 

The old pilgrim quitted the companions of his 
travel when he reached the city. He looked at every 
house with suspicion. There was in his face the as- 
sumed meekness of devotion ; but his eyes had, at 
times, a wolfish glare, that made the beholder gasp 
as it flashed upon him. The devotee appeared aged 



142 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. • 

and travel-worn ; he s«emed to walk and move from 
the impulse of some deep, unquenchable passion, 
rather than from the ease of natural motion. Fre- 
quently he paused as he slunk through the streets, and 
then hurried from the door he was about to knock at. 
He arrived at a mosque, and, as if instinctively, 
bowed his head. He sat upon the steps, and, wearied 
with travel, slept. His old limbs were crouched 
all night upon the marble. When the morning came, 
numbers stood about, looking at the sleeper, who, 
according to the charity of the beholder, seemed some- 
thing more or less than human. To some he ap- 
peared a sleeping fiend. His black, distended eye- 
lids were in strong contrast to the bloodless pallor of 
his cheeks ; his sharp nose, as though protruding 
through the skin ; his fallen jaw, discovering his 
firm-set teeth ; and his arms, hugging his breast, 
gave him, with different minds, the appearance of a 
saint or devil. 

At length a youth approached the sleeper, and 
pulled his garment. The pilgrim, as under the in- 
fluence of some dream, sprang up, and seizing the 
affrighted youth, shouted, " Where, where?" then, 
with the rapidity of thought, felt at his breast, and 
smiled as he seemed to grasp something. Then a 
sudden cramp, the effect of his cold bed and the night 
air, shooting through his legs, he fell ; and his fore- 
head striking against the edge of the step, the blood 
gushed from the wound. The people closed about 
him to render assistance; but, although stunned, he 
threw forth his legs to keep off the multitude, and 
never once loosened his grasp from his garment. At 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 43 

length the people resolved to carry him to a neigh- 
boring surgeon ; and the pilgrim, fainting from the 
loss of blood, was borne to a low hovel in an obscure 
lane. 

Here dwelt the leech, a rare compound of quaint 
humor, cheerfulness, and avarice. The wounded 
man was left alone with the surgeon, who bound up 
the hurt, and strove to unclinch the pilgrim's hands. 
Insensibility gave the patient greater strength ; and 
already the man of healing trembled for his fee. He 
administered violent restoratives to the patient, who 
at length breathed more freely — he panted, and his 
hands fell for an instant upon his knees. The surgeon 
thrust his arm into the sick man's bosom — a deep 
snarl rattled in the pilgrim's throat, as, recovering his 
consciousness, he grasped the arm at his breast, and 
threw back his head to confront the danger that men- 
anced him. There was a terrific interchange of look : 
eye flashed on eye — the face of each was distended — 
their lips worked, as though in disgust and hatred of 
the name they uttered — as " Scowl," " Blitheheart," 
fell, like venom, from them. 

The companions were again united. The hunters 
had again met. A hatred of each other in youth had 
become more deadly in age : but dissimulation could 
give a seeming sanctity to the purpose of a fiend. 

" Dear brother," cried Scowl, " you have a good 
trade." 

" Poor, wretchedly poor," answ r ered Blitheheart. 
" What then ? I am not what I w r as. Now wealth 
hath no charms for me." (Scowl glanced about the 
hut.) •" Believe it — I have more silver in my beard 



144 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

than my bag. But come, you are wearied. Though 
we wear turbans we can drink wine. — Come, come, 
we are too old to be choked with a grape-stone. I 
have no money, but I have credit — we will have wine, 
boy ; and drink to the memory of our old master ! " 
So saying, Blitheheart left the hut on his liberal 
errand. 

Scowl had well scanned his early companion. He 
had read him with eyes of distrust and hate. No sooner 
then had Blitheheart quitted the hovel than Scowl 
cast his greedy looks around — every corner, every 
cranny, was ransacked — the search was unsuccessful. 
Waiting his companion's return, Scowl took up a 
knife to cut a thorn from his foot — he cut, and still 
his face was cold and colorless : he whetted the 
knife upon the stone floor — it stuck at a small iron 
ring. Scowl seized it, and bending every nerve to 
the effort, lifted up a huge granite slab. He staggered 
half blind from the spot, and the low roof echoed the 
rejoicing of the demon. A blaze of gold and jewels 
shone upon him. At this moment the door opened, 
and Blitheheart entered. Scowl threw himself before 
the treasure, and, with the knife firmly grasped in his 
extended hand, dared the approach of his hi dear 
brother," who, wildered at the discovery, moved not, 
spoke not, but breathed a deep groan of agony, let 
the pitcher fall, and, subdued to utter imbecility, threw 
himself upon his knees : he held out his clasped, trem- 
bling hands ; the tears rolled down his withered 
cheeks ; he tried to speak — but articulation was lost 
in guttural moanings. 

"What! I have found a treasure 1" exclaimed 
Scowl. 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 1 45 

" My all, my all ! " sobbed Blitheheart, tremu- 
lously. 

u All ! " echoed Scowl, and drawing his finger 
down the edge of the knife, and his eyes flashing with 
triumph, he cried, in a mingled tone of mockery and 
menace, " Halves, brother ! " 

The lips of Blitheheart quivered, as though struck 
with sudden ague. The veins worked like young 
snakes in his brow. Still he strove to call up a 
ghastly smile into his face. " Halves — ay, ay — 
we'll see — but the wine is gone — we must have 
more — we — " 

" Regale yourself — here is my banquet. Brother 
(by which dear name I claim half your substance), I 
say halves ! Why so," he pursued, as he searched 
among the treasure, " this is well ; a good trade, in 
faith, this physic. Brother, how many men died 
in this?" and he held up a piece of coin, and then 
again turned over the store. The tinkling of every 
piece of metal added torture to Blitheheart — his 
clinched hands struck each other in impotent frenzy, 
and he rushed forward. Scowl dashed back the ter- 
rified wretch * a struggle ensued ; and the tenant of 
the hut lay dumb and insensible. Scowl searched 
amongst the heap of wealth : he was speedily loaded 
— indeed, he was almost held to the spot by the 
weight of his pilferings. He took up a large golden 
vase — twice he put it down, and then resumed it. 
It could not be he must relinquish it — with hate 
and selfish disappointment he dashed it from him, 
and the metal tinkled against the bald skull of the 
dumb and prostrate man. Blitheheart groaned heav- 
10 



146 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

ily, and Scowl, with a fiendish chuckle, crossed the 
threshold. 

u Is there no mercy?" asked a manacled wretch; 
and the rattling of his chains seemed to answer — 
" None." The prisoner was a thin old man, whose 
face, though meagre, was animated with strong con- 
temptuous feeling : his lips seemed festering with 
satire. He slunk to a corner of his dungeon, and 
lifting a stone, took from under it a small bag: it 
was filled with precious gems. He sat dow r n, and 
taking up a loose pebble, drove the jewels between 
the crannies of the dungeon walls. u If they kill the 
birds, they shall not have the plumes," he muttered, as 
he studded the cell of death with gems fitting a dia- 
dem. " I fix them thus low, that they shall not glare 
upon men's eyes ; for even in a dungeon man does 
not look down ; his hopes will fly upward, even 
though they lose their pinions through the bars." 
Ashe accomplished his work the jailer entered — a 
friend was at the gate. " Friend ! " echoed the cap- 
tive', sneeringly — u say I have no legacies." The 
visitor would take no denial : it was Sc^wl who 'came 
to console the captive Topaz. Scowl held forth his 
hand. " What ! " cried Topaz, with a malignant grin, 
" have you another sword behind you ? — nay, leave 
one hand for the cord of the hangman." 

Scowl approached Topaz, and touching his chains, 
cried, " Death, ha?" 

u Yes, a little sleep after a long walk." 

" And these are the men we cultivated. We 
taught them to dig for gold, and they hang you for 



THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 147 

usury. 'Tis a jest, though not a blithe one. Come, 
no bequest for a friend ? — no wealth ? " 

" Wealth, I have none, though these fools hunt 
me for it. They surely think I have a vein of gold 
where other men have marrow. Yet I will bequeath 
you something ! " 

"What?" 

" The rope that hangs me, will serve you for a 
penitential cord." 

The jailer entered — the friends must separate. 
They approached each other with outstretched arms. 
Think, brother, do you give nothing ? " cried Scowl. 

" Nothing?" was the answer. Scowl, turning his 
back on his companion, quitted the cell, and the 
usurer was led forth to death. 

Scowl, as his vessel sailed from the land, beheld the 
carcass of the miser hanging to the winds. 

All was bustle at the village of . Scowl had 

returned to his native home. He had built a stately 
and gorgeous palace, yet the edifice had but few in- 
habitants. Two or three palsied old men from the 
poorhouse tottered in the halls ; and the roofs that 
might have sheltered monarchs echoed the shambling 
tread of the pauper. Here Scowl would live in soli- 
tude, as though he communed with his riches, giving 
them natures and dispositions. He would talk to 
them — for his mind was sinking — as they were his 
ministers and friends. 

At length he ventured upon a task imposed upon 
him by his late master. It was a dark, wintry night 
when he hobbled to the marsh where once stood the 



1 48 THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS. 

cottage of old Rapax. Scowl began to dig the earth, 
and after a long and wearisome toil, he beheld the 
buried riches of his master. Here night after night 
he toiled, removing the treasure stealthily to his man- 
sion. One night he beheld a man moving slowly 
towards the pit — he saw him leap into it, and heard 
him rattle his wealth. Scowl sprang upon the 
robber, seized a bag, and swinging it with all his 
strength, dashed it against the head of his opponent, 
who fell, screaming inarticulate sounds. Scowl re- 
peated the blows, then throwing in the earth, buried 
the unknown corse of Blitheheart with his idol. 
Scowl caught up the bag, and hastened to his 
mansion. 

" It must be," exclaimed Scowl ; " none else could 
know the spot ! " And then he sought to place the 
bag with his stores : he felt in his bosom — groaned, 
and let the bag fall. The noise awakened his ser- 
vants : the old men ran to their master, whom they 
found aghast and trembling. Scowl wildly cried, 
" My keys ! my keys ! gone — buried ! " One of the 
old men took up the bag — Scowl darted forth to seize 
it, then staggered back — as he beheld it wet with 
the blood of his victim. The servants cut it open, 
and the gold fell about the floor. Scowl stamped 
and shrieked as he saw the old men fighting and 
struggling for the coin. He rushed to the iron door 
of his treasures, forbidding all approach. Here, in 
madness, he raved for hours. The old men, terrified, 
and their suspicions awakened by the appearance of 
the bag, soon gave tongue to their fears. The civil 
authorities, with a crowd of villagers, were in attend- 



THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE. I49 

ance. They burst open the bolted door of the apart- 
ment which led to the retreat of the miser, beheld 
him stretched at the door of his treasury. They 
raised him up — he was dead. In his madness, he 
had flung himself violently against the door, and a 
deep wound on his brow showed the indention of 
one of the iron rivets with which it was studded. 

These are the deaths of the three pupils of Rapax. 
One was gibbeted — the other murdered by his 
fellow — the third fractured his own skull against 
the barrier of his wealth. They all got on in the 
world. 1 83 1. 



THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT 
LITTLE. 

EXTRAORDINARY is the mind of man ! He 
sails in mid-air; he compasseth the globe; he 
blunts the lightning; he writeth Hamlet, Pai-adise 
Lost, the Principla, and he chaineth a flea by the 
leg. He maketh the strong elephant to bend his 
joints, and he subdueth a flea, if not to " hew wood," 
at least to draw water. These, the later triumphs 
of the human essence, are now on exhibition some- 
where in that long ark for modern monsters, Regent 
Street! Yes, the "Industrious Fleas" at once de- 
light and shame fashionable idlers, sending them to 
their beds to ruminate on the sagacity of the living 
world about them. 



150 THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE. 

We love a monster as much as ever did Trinculo ; 
hence we have been bitten ; that is, we have made 
acquaintance with the " Industrious Fleas. " Let us 
shortly enumerate their separate capabilities. One 
flea, a fine muscular fellow, worthy, did fairies die, 
to be mourning coach-horse at the funeral of Queen 
Titania (how long since the fairies had a corona- 
tion!), draws a very splendid carriage, constructed 
from the pith of elder. He curvets, and bounds, and 
shows his blood (he must have been fed in some 
royal stable — he hath surely fattened on kings) with 
the proudest royal coach-horse, on — as they say at 
public dinners — " the proudest day of its life." Hav- 
ing seen its legs, we shall think more seriously of the 
kick of a flea ever after. Then, to talk of a " flea 
bite," as a proverb for a wife — a mere nothing; let 
those who speak thus vainly contemplate the terrible 
proboscis of the aforesaid chariot flea, and then think 
of the formidable weapon, plunged through one's 
tender skin, and sucking up by quarts (we saw, we 
looked through a microscope) our hearts' best blood ! 
To go to bed appears no wonder, but to be able to 
rise again after what we have beheld, seems to us a 
daily miracle ! To proceed. Another of the " in- 
dustrious " takes the air with a chain and a weight to 
his leg, the wonder consisting in its resignation to its 
destiny. A third flea, also manacled, draws water. 
A fourth flea has a more awful duty — to bear 
Napoleon Bonaparte, late of France, but now of St. 
Helena — there he is, the victor of a hundred fights, 
majestically seated on flea back. An enthusiastic 
Frenchman may, if he have good eyes, see in the 



THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE. 151 

miniature emperor, the sallow, thoughtful face, the 
" brassy eye " {vide Haydon's account), of the original 
despot — could the figure take snuff, the illusion would 
be perfect. Two other fleas, soldiers, fight a desperate 
combat, affording in their proper persons a triumphant 
refutation to the celebrated dogma of the philosopher, 
that «• fleas are not lobsters." We understood from 
the cicerone, that their deadly enmity was excited 
towards each other by a mutual tickling. We were 
also informed, that one of the fleas (" epicurean 
animal ! ") had the honor to sup off the hand of the 
Princess Augusta. This fact was shamefully hushed 
up by the magas of the Court Circular, else how 
would it have astonished the world to have read, 
that "last night her Royal Highness the Princess 
Augusta gave a supper to the fleas " ! Certain it is, 
the document contains at times news of less interest.* 
This condescension on the part of her Highness, 
though it speaks much for her affability, has been the 
cause of grievous heartburnings and bickerings among 
the society. It is extraordinary the airs that every 
flea gives himself about " his blood." However, it is 
to be hoped that a herald will be appointed to settle 
the claims of each disputant, and to favor the whole 
with a genealogical tree. Who knows whether one 
of these fleas' ancestors did not bite Sancho Panza, or 
the Dulcinea del Toboso, or the Carters, who were 
"bitten like a tench"? Speaking on our own re- 
sponsibility, we are afraid that each of these little 
creatures, after all its vanity about pure blood, has 

* Her Majesty the Queen, and Prince George of Cumberland, stood the 
whole of the sermon 1 1 — Court Circular^ April 8, 1832. 



152 THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE, 

been somewhat capricious in its appetite ; a fault, by 
the by, which often puzzles the heralds in their 
labors, for certain other Httle animals are very angry, 
when they speak of blood, too. 

We quitted the exhibition, and walking at a 
melancholy pace, with our long, lean visage bent 
towards the earth, we were accosted by a man — an 
odd-looking person, with a box at his back — who 
begged we would stop and see his show. We were 
in a sight-seeing humor, and at once consented. The 
box was placed on a trestle, our eye was at the glass, 
and our ears open, when the man commenced his 
description : — 

" The first view presents you with a grand state 
coach of the Great Mogul ; it is drawn by a thousand 
curious animals ; they are, as you will perceive, very 
finely dressed in rich harness, tall feathers, and flying 
ribbons ; they come and tie themselves to the coach, 
and feel*it an honor to be bridled ; they snort, and 
caper, and kick mud into the eyes of the bystanders. 

" The next view shows you one of these animals with 
a long chain and a heavy log. This chain was fixed 
upon his leg when he was born ; and though he has 
sometimes tried to file away the links, he has had his 
knuckles so smartly rapped, and been called so many 
names, — been so preached to that the chain and log 
were for his own good, and that it would ruin him to 
take them from him, — that 'tis likely he will, for the 
public benefit, be made to wear them to the end of 
his days. 

" The animal in the next view, that is chained and 
draws water, is one of the Great Mogul's million of 



THE LITTLE GREAT AND THE GREAT LITTLE. 1 53 

slaves. Although he draws bucket after bucketful 
for the Mogul's house and his household, for his 
horses, and his dogs, and his kitchen, and his flower- 
garden, he is often perishing himself for one half 
mouthful ; his lips are blistered, and his tongue black, 
with the water drawn by his own hands, running 
about him. 

" The fourth animal is mounted on a fiery dragon, 
that, belching flames, kindles forests, fires towns, dries 
rivers, blasts harvests, and swallows men, women, 
and sucking babes. Look to the left, and the dragon 
is turned to a something no bigger than a mouse, and 
with its stinted rations of butter and cheese. 

" In the fifth and last view you see ten thousand 
of these animals ferociously killing, biting, tearing 
another ten thousand, whom they never saw till a few 
minutes ago, and with whom they have no quarrel. 
But they kill one another because they are tickled to 
do so. That is, certain animals go about with tic- 
kling wands called ' glory,' < deathless renown,' 
4 laurel,' and other titillating syllables, poking in the 
ribs of the poor benighted creatures." 

I took my eye from the glass. — " My good man, 
what have you shown me?" 

" Fleas, sir." 

" Fleas ! — nonsense ; the fleas are shown above." 

" Yes, sir ; but mine are the fleas with two legs ; 
though, if I must be honest, I can't say I see any 
difference between the fleas in my show-box and the 
fleas above." i§-i2. 



154 POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 



POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 

HUGO BON COMPAGNO was one of the gay- 
est of the gay children of the south. He had 
archness and vivacity — a bright eye and a ready 
tongue. He was the favorite of the neighbors, and was 
predestined by the monk who taught him Latin to 
make a great figure in the world. Hugo had formed a 
close friendship with a youth about his own age — the 
son of a gardener ; in all respects his inferior, save in 
that plastic quality of temper that moulded itself to 
the will of others, and which, by its docility, made, 
very frequently, a far deeper impression on those who 
knew him, than the more apt and vivacious qualities 
of his patronizing companion. However, the two 
lads were firm friends, and in the day-dreams of boy- 
hood, ere the warm impulses of our nature become 
chilled in the school of selfishness — ere, in our prog- 
ress through the world, we imperceptibly imbibe so 
great a portion of its clay — the youths had but one 
hope, saw but one fortune for both. Wealth, if they 
gained any, was to be equally shared by them — 
honors, if they came, must be participated by either. 
So dreamt they in the delicious time of youth ; so 
lived they in one of the loveliest spots of Italy — at a 
village some few miles from Bologna. The world 
as yet lay before them, an undiscovered country ; they 
saw it, as the great navigator saw, in his dreams, the 
distant yet unknown land ; a halo of glory was about 
it ; it was rich in fruit and flowers, and spicy forests, 
and mines of gold. 



POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 155 

At length the time arrived when this romantic 
region was to be explored. Hugo was to go into the 
world. At the period of which we write, the church 
was the surest road to honor; and Hugo, as we have 
before implied, had that keen and subtle tempera- 
ment, that untiring perseverance, and that aptitude 
for book-learning, which, in those days, were con- 
sidered the indispensable requisites for one who, in 
ostensibly devoting himself to God, sought to grasp 
at temporal sway; and who, as he bowed with a 
seeming inward reverence to the cross, leered with a 
miser's eye at Mammon and his heaps. Hugo was 
devoted to the church ; he quitted his native village, 
and, grown beyond childish years, and having cast 
away u ail childish things," he became a monk, and 
in his function pored over that awful volume, so 
blotted with crime, so stained with tears, so confused, 
so scrawled with error — that mystery of mysteries — 
the human heart. Thus he labored, all his thoughts 
and feelings attuned to one purpose — worldly am- 
bition. His home, his relatives, the companions of 
his youth, the scenes of his boyhood — all, all were 
forgotten — the monk had killed the man. 

" Well, Hugo, ' said Luigi, with a saddened air, 
" to-morrow you quit us : to-morrow you leave the 
village, and the saints alone know if we shall ever 
meet again." 

"Meet again, Luigi? and why not? You will 
come and see me. I shall sometimes come here. 
We shall see one another often — very often." 

"Yes — see one another! But you will only be 
to me as the ghost of a dead friend ! " 



156 POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE, 

" The ghost of a friend ! Can I ever forget Luigi ! 
— my earliest playmate — the brother of my heart, 
though not of my blood? Trust me, I shall ever love 
you." 

"A monk love I — a monk has neither parents nor 
friends ! " 

" No : he loves, with an equal affection, all man- 
kind ! " 

"Ay — and only with all must Luigi take his 
share. Farewell, Hugo, and the Virgin bless you : " 
and Luigi turned away with ill-concealed emotion, 
and endeavored to proceed with his work. Hugo 
was likewise sensibly affected by the sincere passion 
of his friend. And let not the reader too hastily 
condemn the scene as weak and puerile — hitherto 
Luigi, although he had known and conceded to the 
superiority of Hugo, yet felt proud of the excellence 
that had cast its favor upon himself. — He now saw in 
it the cause of separation ; he now felt that he was 
the humble Luigi, the gardener, destined to eat from 
his daily toil, and that Hugo, his earliest and choicest 
friend, was to be severed from him to pursue a path, 
it might be, of glory and renown. Luigi continued 
at his work. 

"What are you going to plant there, Luigi?" 
asked Hugo. 

" A pear tree, — and it is said to be of a rare kind." 

" Stay ; let me help you," rejoined Hugo ; and ap- 
proaching Luigi, he assisted him in planting the 
young shrub, for it was little more. Whilst thus em- 
ployed, they uttered not a word — each drew a sombre 
picture of the future, and for the time Hugo felt 



POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 157 

that he could give up all hopes of the power and 

splendor promised to him in his dreams, and in those 

reveries more delicious, though often as equally vain. 

as the visions of the night— that he could forego all 

temporal pomp, all spiritual domination, rather than 

wound the honest heart beside him. — For a moment 

the genius of the place seemed to ask him—" Why 

not abide here in the home of thy father — why not 

rest with us, and get thy food from the earth — why 

pant for the commerce of the world, < as the hart 

panteth after the water-brooks?'" Ere the young 

tree stood supported by the earth, this feeling had 

subsided, as it had never risen, and Hugo stood again 

about to say farewell to Luigi, who looked at him 

with a look of mingled sorrow and distrust. 

" Luigi ! " exclaimed Hugo, with sudden animation, 
' let this tree be as a covenant between us. As 'it 
stands, it is no unapt type of your friend. The rich 
earth is about its roots, and the ' dew will lie upon 
its branches ; ' with the blessings of the saints, it may 
put forth swelling buds and leaves, and rich and 
odorous fruit — and men may pluck refreshing sweet- 
ness from its boughs, and rejoice beneath their shade. 
So it may grow up, and so may it adorn the land that 
doth sustain it ; and, Luigi, it may be that it may 
pine and shrink, and never put forth one green leaf 
— or blight may eat its buds, and canker gnaw its 
heart, and so, cut down, it may be cast upon the fire, 
and so may perish. 

" Thus stands your friend : I shall be planted in the 
church, Luigi, — in that soil, rich with the flesh and 
blood of saints — heaven may rain its dews upon me, 



I58 POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 

and I may put forth glorious fruit, and, Luigi (the 
voice of the speaker became slightly tremulous), 
these hopes may be a melancholy mockery of my fate 
— for I may perish, unknown, unhonored, unregretted. 
I know not how to account for it ; my mind is pos- 
sessed by a sudden superstition. I feel — - and it is an 
odd, perhaps an unchristian fancy — that this tree will 
be the symbol of my destiny ; if it flourish, I shall 
prosper; if it fade, Hugo will decay too. But, how- 
ever it may be, Luigi, the hearts of our youth shall, 
in their friendship, be the hearts of our old age. And 
though we shall meet, yes, often meet, yet here I 
promise, that there is no time so distant, no state so 
high, that even though, parting here as }'ouths, we 
never meet but as gray-headed men — that here, em- 
bracing in this humble garden, w T e next encountered 
in the halls of kings — I give my solemn word that 
you shall be to me the same Luigi, I the same 
Hugo." 

Luigi grasped the hand of the speaker — u Heaven 
prosper you, Hugo — and forget not your friends. 
Remember, remember the pear-tree." 

Hugo quitted his paternal home ; years passed on, 
and whilst Luigi, a happy aad contented man, tilled 
his ground, and propped his vines, and saw his ruddy 
offspring flourishing around him — whilst he enjoyed 
that great gift of Paradise, " a country life," and 
lived in an atmosphere of serenity and sweetness, 
Hugo was toiling through the devious paths of church- 
craft, a childless man. He was a politician and a 
priest — then, more than ever, twin-flowers upon one 
stalk — he had advanced in dignity, and had almost 



POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 1 59 

within his grasp that bright reality, the shadow of 
which had shone like a star upon his tide of life, and 
tempted him to ford all depths, to dare all dangers, 
to hold all toil as nought. 

And Luigi lived on, and became an old man. His 
children's children frolicked under the shadow of the 
pear tree, which shot up, and spread out, as though 
some spirit were specially charged to tend it. 

" Ha ! " cried Luigi, " 'tis a rare crop ; " as two of 
his grandchildren, perched in the boughs, plucked 
the fruit, and threw it into the laps of their little 
sisters, who piled it in two large baskets — " 'tis a 
rare crop," repeated Luigi, " and if Hugo bear but 
half as much, there are few richer among the brother- 
hood. He said, as this tree flourished, so should he 
prosper : he was a true prophet ; though 'tis well he 
left something behind to inform me of his increasing 
greatness — it seems I should never have known it 
from himself." 

Hugo had, shortly after his departure, forgotten his 
friend, who, however, continued to tread the same 
humble, happy path, in which he had at first set out. 
He had had nothing to disquiet him, no losses, no 
family afflictions ; the dove, Peace, had always nestled 
in his cot — and it was not until the old man was 
bending downwards to the grave, that misfortune 
threatened his hearth-stone. 

A man of high birth and immense wealth had built 
a magnificent palazzo in the neighborhood of Luigi 's 
cottage. This man was connected by marriage with 
the family of Hugo. He was purse-proud and des- 
potic, making of his gold a sword against the poor. 



l6o POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 

One day it was his arrogant whim that the cottage 
of the gardener interfered with the beauty of the pros- 
pect from the palazzo. It was almost instantly con- 
veyed to Luigi, that he must seek another abode, as 
the land on which the house was built, together with 
the gardens, belonging to his potent neighbor, was to 
be devoted to other purposes. The intelligence fell 
with a heavy blow upon the old man. To leave the 
cottage — the roof under which himself, his fathers, 
were born — to quit his gardens, his trees, things 
which, next to his own children, he loved with a 
yearning affection — the very thought of it appeared 
to him a kind of death. He refused to quit — he re- 
monstrated — implored — it was of no avail — the cot- 
tage interfered with the prospect. 

One evening the old man, half bewildered, had re- 
turned from a fruitless journey to the palazzo. He 
sat down in his garden, and looked with swimming 
eyes upon his mirthful grandchildren (heedless pretty 
ones, whose very happiness gives a deeper melan- 
choly to a house of sorrow) ; shocked and wounded by 
the tyranny of his landlord, he glanced at Hugo's 
Pear Tree-— (for so he always called it). The old 
man leaped from his seat ; his resolution was taken ; 
he would go to Rome — he would, as a last hope, 
strive to find some part of his boyish playmate, Hugo, 
in the wrinkled, politic churchman. All things were 
soon ordered for his journey, and he quitted the cot- 
tage, bearing with him a small basket filled with the 
finest pears plucked from Hugo's tree. Luigi arrived 
in Rome ; and now with a sinking heart, now with a 
confidence based on honest pride, he sought the pres- 



POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. l6l 

enceofthe Holy Father. Appearing before the ser- 
vants of his Holiness, Luigi asked for an audience 
with Messer Hugo Bon Compagno. When re- 
minded of this unbecoming familiarity, Luigi replied 
that he knew not Pope Gregory XIII., but was a dear 
friend of Hugo's, and therefore demanded to see his 
companion, not caring, he said, to trouble the pope. 

To this Luigi obstinately adhered, continually 
urging, with great earnestness, that he should be ad- 
mitted to the presence of his early comrade. There 
was a simplicity in the old man's manner that for 
once won upon the minions of the great; and the 
strange demand of Luigi being reported to his Holi- 
ness, he was with great ceremony ushered before the 
sovereign Pontiff- before the man who was courted 
by emperors, nattered by kings. All retired, and the 
rustic and God's vicar upon earth were confronted. 

How changed, since the friends had last met ! — 
Then, they were, at least in fortunes, almost equal 
Now, one was bent beneath the load of empire — 
worshipped as one only « a little lower than the 
angels" — the triple crown upon his head — St 
Peter's keys within his hand. What has the poor 
gardener to show against all these? — A basket of 
pears ! 

"Now, my son," said Pope Gregory — "you 
sought Hugo Bon Compagno -you find him in 
£nT?» the Thirteenth - What ask J™, at his 

"Justice, most holy father— justice, and no favor." 
" Speak." 

"I made with another, in my time of youth, a 
II 



1 62 POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR TREE. 

mutual compact of kindness and protection — we 
vowed that whichever should prosper in his fortune, 
should serve and assist the other." 

" It was a Christian promise. Well ! Stand you 
in need of succor?" 

"Most grievously — oppression has come upon me 
in ray old age." 

"And your friend forsakes you in your need? 
Have you witnesses to the compact of which you 

speak ? " 

"Yes — this basket of pears ! " 

"Pears!" cried the Pontiff; and light darted from 
his eyes as he fixed them earnestly on Luigi. 

" We planted the tree on which they grew — ' Let 
this tree be a covenant between us ' — were the words 
of my companion. He and the tree have flourished : 
for forty years that tree has never failed ; for every 
year it hath brought forth a crop of luscious fruit — 
and I have sat beneath that tree and wondered how 
it could be so bountiful to me, when he who helped 
to plant it, he who was bending beneath his honors 
and his wealth, had forgotten to send me even a single 

pear." 

u Luigi — Luigi," exclaimed the Pontiff; and with 
a face crimsoned with blushes, he threw his arms 
about the rustic ! — Their gray heads lay on each 
other's shoulder. Thus they continued for some 
moments, and then Luigi, stooping to the basket, pre- 
sented a pear to Gregory : he took it, and looking at 
it, burst into tears. 

Luigi kept his cottage. 

1831. 



SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 163 

SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 

T^HE "principle of evil," as commonly embodied 
-L in the theatre, has been a sorry affair ; —the 
stage devil in a word, a shabby person. From the 
time of he Mysteries at Coventry to the melo-dramas 
of the phosphoric pen of the blue-fire dramatist, the 
father of iniquity has made his appearance in a 
manner more provocative of contempt than of fear • 
a candidate for our smiles, rather than a thin- of 
terrors: we have chuckled where we should have 
shuddered. 

That the stage devil should have been so common- 
place an individual, when there were devils in- 
numerable wherefrom an admirable selection of 
demons might be "constantly on hand," made it the 
more inexcusable on the part of those gentlemen 
invested with the power of administering to, and in 
some measure forming, public taste. What a cata- 
logue of devils may be found in the Fathers ! Let us 
particularize a few from the thousands of demons 
with which tne benevolent imaginations of our ances- 
tors have peopled the air, the earth, and the flood. 
root humanity stands aghast at the fearful odds of 
spiritual influences arrayed against it; for it is the 
fixed opinion of Paracelsus, that "the air is not so 
full of fhes m summer, as it is at all times of invisible 
devils; whdst another philosopher declares that 
there ,s "not so much as a hair-breadth empty in 
earth or in waters, above or under the earth » l 



164 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 

Cornelius Agrippa has carefully classified devils, 
making them of nine orders. The first are the false 
gods adored at Delphos and elsewhere in various 
idols, having for their captain Beelzebub ; the second 
is of '* lyars and equivocators," as Apollo — poor 
Apollo ! — " and the like ; " the third are " vessels of 
anger, inventors of all mischief," and their prince is 
Belial ; the fourth are malicious, revengeful devils, 
their chief being Asinodeus ; the fifth are cozeners, 
such as belong to magicians and witches — their 
prince is Satan ; the sixth are these aerial devils that 
corrupt the air, and cause plagues, thunder, fire, and 
tempests — Meresin is their prince; the seventh is a 
destroyer, captain of the Fairies ; the eighth is an 
accusing or calumniating devil ; and the ninth are all 
these in several kinds, their commander being Mam- 
mon. Of all these infernal creatures Cornelius 
Agrippa writes with the confidence and seeming ac- 
curacy of a man favored with their most intimate 
acquaintance. 

In addition to these, we have, on the authority of 
grave philosophers, legions of household devils, from 
such as " commonly work by blazing stars," fire- 
drakes or ignes fatui, to those who u counterfeit 
suns and moons, and oftentimes sit on ship masts." 
Their common place 'of rendezvous, when unem- 
ployed, is Mount Hecla. Cardon, with an enviable 
gravity, declares that " his father had an aerial devil 
bound to him for twenty and eight years." Paracelsus 
relates many stories, all authenticated, of she-devils 
46 that have lived and been married to mortal men, 



SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 165 

and so continued for certain years with them, and 
after, for some dislike, have forsaken them." Olaus 
Magnus — a most delightful liar — has a narrative of 
"one Hotheius, a king of Sweden, that, having lost 
his company as he was hunting one day, met with 
these water-nymphs and fairies, and was feasted by 
them ; " and Hector Boethius of" Macbeth and Banco, 
two Scottish lords, that, as they were wandering in 
the woods, had their fortunes told them by three 
strange women." For the " good people," the wood- 
nymphs, foliots, fairies, they are, on the best authority, 
to be seen in many places in Germany, " where they 
do usually walk in little coats some two feet long." 
Subterranean devils are divided by Olaus Magnus 
into six companies ; they commonly haunt mines ; 
" and the metal-men in many places account it good 
luck, a sign of treasure and rich ore, when they see 
them." Georgius Agricola (De subterraneis Ani- 
mantibus) reckons two more kinds, that are " clothed 
after the manner of metal-men, and will do their 
work." Their office, according to the shrewd guess 
of certain philosophers, u is to keep treasure in the 
earth that it be not all at once revealed." 

On the 20th of June, 1484, it is upon record that 
the devil appeared " at Hamrud, in Saxony," in the 
likeness of a field piper, and carried away a hundred 
and thirty children u that were never after seen." 
I might fill folios with the pranks and malicious 
mummeries of the evil spirit, all, too, duly attested by 
the most respectable witnesses ; but shall at once 
leave the demons of the philosophers for the spirits 



1 66 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 

of the play-mongers — the devils of the world for the 
devils of the stage. 

Why is it that, nine times out of ten, your stage 
devil is a droll rather than a terrible creature? I 
suspect that this arises from the bravado of our in- 
nate wickedness. We endeavor to shirk all thoughts, 
all recollections, of his horrible attributes, by endowing 
him with grotesque propensities : we strive to laugh 
ourselves out of our fears : we make a mountebank 
of what is in truth our terror, and resolutely strive to 
grin away our apprehensions. Surely some feeling 
of this kind must be at the bottom of all our ten 
thousand jokes at the devil's expense — of the glee 
and enjoyment with which the devil is received at 
the theatre ; where, until the appearance of Mr. 
Wieland, he has been but a commonplace absurdity 
— a dull repetition of a most dull joke. 

Wieland has evidently studied the attributes of the 
evil principle ; with true German profundity he has 
taken their length, and their depth, and their breadth : 
he has all the devil at his very finger-ends, and richly 
deserves the very splendid silver-gilt horns and tail 
(manufactured by Rundell and Bridges) presented to 
him a few nights since by the company at the English 
Opera House ; presented, with a speech from the 
stage-manager, which — or I have been grossly mis- 
informed — drew tears from the eyes of the very scene- 
shifters. 

Can anybody forget Wieland' s devil in " The Daugh- 
ter of the Danube " ? Never was there a more dainty 
bit of infernal nature. It lives in my mind like one 
of Hoffman's tales ; a realization of the hero of the 



SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 167 

nightmare — a thing in almost horrible affinity with 
human passions. How he eyed the Naiades ! how 
he languished, and ogled, and faintingly approached, 
then wandered round the object of his demoniacal af- 
fections ! And then how he burst into action ! How 
he sprang, and leaped, and whirled — and, chuc- 
kling at his own invincible nature, spun like a tee- 
totum at the sword of his baffled assailant ! And 
then his yawn and sneeze ! There was absolutely 
poetry in them — the very highest poetry of the 
ludicrous : a fine imagination to produce such sounds 
as part of the strange, wild, grotesque phantom — to 
give it a voice that, when we heard it, we felt to be 
the only voice such a thing could have. There is fine 
truth in the devils of Wieland — we feel that they 
live and have their being in the realms of fancy ; they 
are not stereotype commonplaces, but most rare and 
delicate monsters brought from the air, the earth, or 
the flood ; and wherever they are from, bearing in 
them the finest characteristics of their mysterious and 
fantastic whereabout. 

Wieland's last devil, in an opera bearing his fear- 
ful name, is not altogether so dainty a fellow as his 
elder brother of the Danube ; whose melancholy so 
endeared him to our sympathies, whose lack-a-daisi- 
cal demeanor so won upon our human weakness. 
In " The Devil's Opera,'' the hero is more of the 
pantomimist than of the thinking creature : he is not 
contemplative, but all for action : he does not, like 
the former fiend, retire into the fastness of his infernal 
mind to -brood on love and fate, but is incessantly 
grinning, leaping, tumbling: hence he is less in- 



l6S SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 

teresting to the meditative part of the audience 
though, possibly, more attractive to the majority of 
playgoers, who seem to take the » ev.1 principle 
under* their peculiar patronage, laughing, shouting 
and hurrahing at every scurvy tnck played by ^t on 
poor, undefended humanity, though with a bold aim 
of genius on the part of the author, the devil, in the 
opera, is made the ally of love and virtue, against 
bUnd'tyranny and silly superstition. The devil is 
chained, bound, the bond-slave of the good and re- 
spectable part of the dramatis person* to the con- 
fusion of the foolish and the wicked. This is cer- 
tainly putting the "evil principle" to the very first 
advantage. The best triumph of the highest benevo- 
lence is, undoubtedly, to turn the dominating fiend 
into the toiling vassal; and in the new opera this 
elory is most unequivocally achieved. 

To Wieland we are greatly indebted for having 
reformed the " infernal powers " of the theatre ; for 
having rescued the imp of the stage from the vulgar . 
commonplace character in which lie has too long dis- 
guised himself, or, I ought rather to say, exposed him- 
"elf; for there was no mystery whatever in him: lie 
was a sign-post devil -a miserable daub ; with not 
one of those emanations of profound unearthly 
thought- not the slightest approach to that dehcacy 
of coloring, that softening of light into shade and 
shade into light, that distinguish the devd of \\ .eland. 
No : in him we have the foul fiend divested of all his 
vulgar Bartlemy-fair attributes; his horns and tail 
and saucer-eyes, and fish-hook nails, are the east 
part of him ; they are the mere accidents oi his nature, 



SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 160 

not his nature itself; we have the devil in the abstract, 
and are compelled to receive with some consideration 
the popular and charitable proverb, that declares 
him to be not quite so black as limners have shad- 
owed him. 

By the rarest accident, I have obtained some ac- 
count of the birth and childhood of Wieland. It 
appears that he is a German born, being the youngest 
of six sons of Hans Wieland, a poor and most amia- 
ble doll-maker, a citizen of Hildesheim. When only 
four years old, the child was lost in the Hartz Moun- 
tains, whither his father and several neighbors had 
resorted to make holiday. The child had from his 
cradle manifested the greatest propensities towards 
the ludicrous ; it was his delight to place his father's 
dolls in the most preposterous positions, doing this 
with a seriousness, a gravity, in strange contrast with 
his employment. It was plain to Professor Teu- 
felskopf, a frequent visitor at the shop of old Wieland 
employed by the Professor on toys that are yet to 
astound the world, — being no other than a man and 
wife and four children, made entirely out of pear tree, 
and yet so exquisitely constructed as to be enabled to 
eat and drink, cry, and pay taxes, with a punctuality 
and propriety not surpassed by many machines of 
flesh and blood, — I say it was the opinion of Profess- 
or Teufelskopf that young Wieland was destined to 
play a great part among men — an opinion, we are 
happy to say, nightly illustrated by the interestino- 
subject of this memoir. We have, however, to speak 
of his adventures, when only four years old, in the 
Hartz Mountains. For a whole month was the child 



170 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 

missing, to the agony of his parents, and the deep 
regret of all the citizens of Hildesheim, with whom 
little George was an especial favorite. The mountains 
were overrun by various parties in search of- the un- 
fortunate little vagrant ; but with no success. It was 
plain that the boy had been caught away by some 
spirit of the mines with which the marvellous dis- 
trict abounds, or, it might be, carried to the very 
height of the Brockenberg, by the king of the moun- 
tain, to be his page and cup-bearer. The gravest 
folks of Hildesheim shook their heads, and more than 
two declared that they never thought George would 
grow up to a man — he was so odd, so strange, so 
fantastic ; so unlike any other child. The despair of 
Hans Wieland was fast settling into deep melancholy, 
and he had almost given up all hope, when, as he sat 
brooding at his fireside one autumn night, his wife — ■ 
she had quitted him not a minute to go up stairs — 
uttered a piercing shriek. Hans rushed from the fire- 
side, and in an instant joined his wife, who, speech- 
less with delight and wonder, pointed to the nook in 
the chamber where little George was wont to sleep, 
and where, at the time, but how brought there was 
never, never known, the boy lay in the profoundest 
slumber ; in all things, the same plump, good-looking 
child, save that his cheek was more than usually 
flushed. Hans Wieland and his wife fell upon their 
knees and sobbed thanksgiving. 

I cannot dwell upon the eifect produced by this mys- 
terious return of the child upon the people of Hildes- 
heim. The shop of Hans Wieland was thronged with 
folks anxious to learn from the child himself a full ac- 



SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 1 71 

count of his wanderings — of how he happened to stray 
away — of what he had seen — and by what means 
he had been brought back. To all these questions,' 
though on other points a most docile infant, George 
maintained the most dogged silence. Several of the 
church authorities, half a dozen professors, nay, the 
great Teufelskopf himself, questioned the child ; but 
all in vain — George was resolutely dumb. It was 
plain, however, that he had been the play-fellow, the 
pet, of supernatural things; and though there can be 
little doubt that his fiends and devils, as shown upon 
the stage, are no other than faithful copies of the 
grotesque originals at this moment sporting in the 
neighborhood of the Brockenberg, Mr. Wieland, as I 
am credibly informed, though a gentle and amiable 
person in every other respect, is apt to be ruffled, nay, 
violent, if impertinently pressed upon the subject of 
his early wanderings. When, however, we reflect 
upon the great advantages obtained by Mr. Wieland 
from what is now to be considered the most fortunate 
accident of his childhood, we must admit that there 
is somewhat less praise due to him, than if he ap- 
peared before us as a great original. Since I com- 
menced this paper I have been informed by Mr. 
Dullandry, of" The Wet Blanket," that the goblin in 
" The Daughter of the Danube/' a touch of acting i n 
which Mr. Wieland gathered a wreath of recMiot 
laurels, is by no means what it was taken for, a piece 
of fine invention on the part of the actor, but an 
imitation, a most servile copy of the real spirit that 
carried George away from his 'father and friends, 
tempting the little truant with a handful of most 



172 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 

delicious black cherries, and a draught of kirschen- 
wasser ; that every gesture, every movement, nay, 
that the leer of the eye, and the " villanous hanging 
of the nether lip," the sneeze, the cough, the sigh — 
the lightning speed, the 

"Infernal beauty, melancholy grace," — 

all the attributes of mind and body of that most deli- 
cate fiend of the Brockenberg, were given in the hob- 
goblin of the Danube. Hence, if Mr. Wieland be 
not, as we thought him, a great original, he is most 
assuredly the first of mimics, and has turned a peril 
of his childhood to a golden purpose. Dullandry de- 
clares upon the best authority — doubtless his own — 
that the devil of the Brockenberg, when little George 
cried to go home to his father and mother, his brother 
and sisters, would solace the child by playing on a 
diabolic fiddle — the strings of wolf's gut, and the 
bow strung from the snowy hair of the witch of the 
Alps — dancing the while, and by the devilish magic 
of the music bringing from every fissure in the rocks, 
every cleft in the earth, and from every stream, their 
supernatural intelligences to caper and make holiday 
for the especial delight of the poor kidnapped son of 
the doll-maker of Hildesheim. If this be true, — and 
when Dullandry speaks, it is hard to doubt, his 
words being pearls without speck or flaw, — if this 
be true, we here beg leave to inform Mr. Wieland 
that from this minute we withdraw from him a great 
part of that admiration with which we have always 
remembered the spasmodic twitch of his elbow, the 
self-complacency about his eyes and jaws, the lofty 



SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 1 73 

look of conscious power, the stamping of the foot, 
and the inexhaustible energy of bowing which marked 
his " Devil on Two Sticks," all such graces and 
qualifications being, as from Dullandry it now ap- 
pears, the original property of the devil of the Brock- 
enberg. However, to return to our narrative ; which, 
as I am prepared to show, has, in these days of dar- 
ing speculation, the inestimable charm of truth to 
recommend it to the severest attention of my read- 
ers : — 

Little George remained a marvel to the good 
citizens of Hildesheim, few of whom, for certain pru- 
tential reasons, would any longer permit their chil- 
dren to play with him ; fearing, and reasonably 
enough, some evil from contact with a child who was 
evidently a favorite with the spirits of the Hartz 
Mountains. However, this resolution had no effect 
on George, w T ho more than ever indulged in solitary 
rambles, becoming day by day more serious and taci- 
turn. His little head — as Professor Teufelskopf 
sagaciously observed — was filled with the shapes 
and shadows haunting the Brockenberg ! Many 
were the solicitations, made by Teufelskopf and rival 
professors to Hans Wieland, to be permitted to take 
little George and educate him for a philosopher, an 
alchemist, in fact for anything and everything, the 
boy displaying capacities, as all declared, only to be 
found in an infant Faust. To all these prayers Hans 
Wieland was deaf, resolved to bring up hrs son to the 
honest and useful employment of doll-making, keep- 
ing, if possible, his head free from the cobwebs and 
dust of the schools, and making him a worthy minister 



174 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 

to the simple and innocent enjoyments of baby girls,* 
rather than consenting to his elevation as a puzzler 
and riddler among men. Thus our hero, denied to the 
scholastic yearnings of the great Teufelskopf, sat at 
home, articulating the joints of dolls, and helping to 
make their eyes open and shut, when — had his father 
had the true worldly ambition in him — the boy would 
have been inducted into knowledge that might have 
given him supernatural power over living flesh and 
blood, bending and blinding it to his own high, philo- 
sophic purposes. Hans Wieland, however, was a sim- 
ple, honest soul, with a great, and therefore proper 
sense of the beauties and uses of the art of doll-making. 
Glad also am I to state, that little George, with all his 
dreaminess, remained a most dutiful, sweet-tempered 
boy ; and might be seen, seven hours at least out of 
the twenty-four, seated on a three-legged stool, fitting 
the legs and arms of the ligneous hopes of the little 
girls of Hildesheim ; his thoughts, it may be, far, far 
away with the fiddling goblins of the Brockenberg, — 
making holiday with the multitude of spirits in the 
Hartz Mountains. 

This mental abstraction on the part of little George 
was but too often forced upon the observation of 

* One of the most touching instances of the "maternal instinct," as it has been 
called, in children, came under my notice a few months ago. A wretched 
woman, with an infant in her arms — mother and child in very tatters — solicited 
the alms of a nursery-maid passing with a child, clothed in the most luxurious 
manner, hugging a large wax-doll. The moiher followed the girl, begging for 
relief k( to get bread for her child," whilst the child itself, gazing at the treasure 
in the arms of the baby of prosperity, cried, "Mammy, when will yoo buy me a 
doll ? " I have met with few things more affecting than the contrast of the desti- 
tute parent begging for bread (the misery seemed real), and the beggar's child 
begging of its modicr for "a doll" i 



SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 1 75 

the worthy Hans, the young doll-maker constantly 
giving the looks and limbs of hobgoblins to the faces 
and bodies of dolls, intended by the father to supply 
the demand for household dolls of the same staid and 
prudish aspect, of the same proportion of members, 
as the dolls that had for two hundred years soothed 
and delighted the little maidens of Hildesheim. It is 
a fact hitherto unknown in England, that in the 
Museum at Hildesheim — a beautiful, though some- 
what heavy building of the Saxon order — there are 
either eleven or twelve (I think twelve) demon dolls 
made by young Wieland, and to this day shown to 
the curious — though the circumstance has, strangely 
enough, remained unnoticed by the writers of Guide 
Books — as faithful portraits of the supernatural in- 
habitants of the Hartz Mountains. I am told, how- 
ever, that within the last three years one of the figures 
has been removed into a separate chamber, and is 
only to be seen by an express order from the town 
council, in consequence of its lamentable effects on 
the nerves of a certain German princess, who was so 
overcome by the exhibition, that it was very much to 
be feared that the whole of the principality — ex- 
tending in territory at least a mile and a quarter, and 
containing no less than three hundred and twenty 
subjects — will pass to a younger brother, or, what 
is worse, be the scene of a frightful revolution, an 
heir direct being wanted to consolidate the dynasty. 
This unfortunate event, though possibly fatal to the 
future peace of the said principality, is, nevertheless, 
a striking instance of the powerful imagination, or 
rather of the retentive memory, of young Wieland. 



176 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 

The doll, like all the others, is a true copy from diabolic 
life : how the painful story attached to it should have 
escaped all the foreign correspondents of all the 
newspapers, is a matter of surpassing astonishrnqnt. 

We now arrive at an important change in the life 
of our hero. His father had received a munificent 
order for three dolls from Prince Gotheoleog, a great 
patron of the fine arts in all their many branches. 
The dolls were intended by the prince — he was the 
best and most indulgent of fathers — as presents for his 
daughters ; and therefore no pains, no cost, were to 
be spared upon them. After a lapse of three months 
the order was completed ; and young Wieland, then 
in his seventh year, was dressed in his holiday suit, 
and — the dolls being carried by Peter Shnicht, an oc- 
casional assistant of Hans Wieland — he took his way 
to the palace of the prince. It was about half past 
twelve when he arrived there, and the weather being 
extremely sultry, George sat down on the palace steps 
to rest and compose himself before he ventured to 
knock at the gate. Pie had remained there but a 
short time, when he was addressed by a tall, majestic- 
looking person, clothed in a huntsman's suit, and car- 
rying a double-barrel gun, a weapon used in the neigh- 
borhood of Hildesheim in boar-shooting, who, asking 
our hero his name and business, was struck with the 
extraordinary readiness of the boy's answer, and, more 
than all, with a certain look of diabolic reverence 
peeping from his eyes, and odd smiles playing about 
his mouth. The stranger knocked at the gate, gave 
his gun to a servant, and bade the little doll-maker 
follow the domestic, who showed him into a sumptu- 



SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. I 77 

ous apartment The reader is prepared to find in 
the man with the gun no other person than Prince 
Gotheoleog himself, who in a few minutes reappeared 
to George, asked him, in the most condescending 
manner, various questions respecting his proficiency 
in reading and writing, and finally dismissed him 
with the reward often groschen for his extraordinary 
intelligence. Six months after this Prince Gotheoleog 
was appointed ambassador to the Court of St. James's, 
and young Wieland attended him in the humble, yet 
most honorable capacity of page. This appointment 
Hans Wieland, in his simplicity, believed would ef- 
fectually win his romantic son from his errant habits, 
would cure him of day-dreaming by plunging him 
neck deep into the affairs of this world. Alas ! it had 
precisely the reverse effect upon the diplomatic doll- 
maker : from the moment that he found himself as- 
sociated, though in the slightest degree, with politics, 
the latent desire to play the devil burst forth with in- 
extinguishable ardor. A sense of duty — a filial re- 
gard for the prejudices of his father — did for a time 
restrain him from throwing up his very lucrative and 
most promising situation in the household of Prince 
Gotheoleog, and kept him to the incessant toil, the 
unmitigated drudgery, of diplomatic life ; but, having 
one luckless night gained admission into the gallery 
of the House of Commons on the debate of a certain 
question, to which I shall not more particularly allude, 
and there having seen and heard a certain member, 
whose name I shall not specify, sv/ay and convulse 
the senate, George resolved from that moment to 
play the devil, and nothing but the devil, to the end 
12 



1 78 SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 

of his days. He immediately retired to Bellamy's, and 
penned his resignation to Prince Gotheoleog, trusting, 
with the confidence of true genius, to fortune, to his 
own force of character, or, what is more likely, with- 
out once thinking of the means or accidents to obtain 
the end of his indomitable aspirations — an appear- 
ance as the devil. Unrivalled as Wieland is as the 
representative of the fiend in all his thousand shapes 

— to be sure the great advantages of our hero's edu- 
cation in the Hartz Mountains are not to be forgotten 

— it is yet to be regretted that he ever 

" To the playhouse gave up what was meant for mankind." 

It is, and must ever be, a matter of sorrow not only 
to his best wishers, but to the friends of the world at 
large, that those high qualifications, those surpassing 
powers of diabolic phlegm, vivacity, and impudence, 
which have made Mr. Wieland's devils .the beau 
ideal of the infernal, had not been suffered to ripen 
in the genial clime of diplomacy. In the full glow 
of my admiration of his diabolic beauties — that is, 
since the facts above narrated have been in my pos- 
session — I have often scarcely suppressed a sigh to 
think how great an ambassador has been sacrificed 
in a playhouse fiend. Indeed, nothing can be more 
truly diplomatic than the supernatural shifts of Wie- 
land. Had he acted in France in the days of Na- 
poleon, he had been kidnapped from the stage, and, 
?iolens volens, made a plenipotentiary. 

It is a painful theme to dwell upon the stragglings 
of modest, and, consequently, unsupported genius. 
Therefore I shall, at least for the present, suppress 



SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 1 79 

a very long and minute account of the trials that 
beset our hero. in his attempts to make known the 
wonders that were in him. I shall not relate how he 
was flouted by one manager, snubbed by another, de- 
risively smiled upon by a third ; how, at length, he 
obtained a footing in the theatre, but was condemned 
to act the minor iniquities, less gifted men being pro- 
moted to play the devil himself. In all these trials, 
however, in all these disappointments and occasional 
heartburnings, the genius of our hero continued to 
ripen. His horns still budded, and his tail gave 
token of great promise ; and, at length, he burst upon 
the town from top to toe, intits et in cute, a perfect 
and most dainty devil. Great as his success has 
been, I should not have thus lengthily dwelt upon it, 
were I not convinced of its future increase. There 
are great mysteries in Wieland — a part of his infant 
wanderings in the Hartz — yet to be revealed. I feel 
certain from the demoniacal variety of his humor, that 
there are yet a legion of spirits, fantastic and new, 
yet to be shown to us ; all of them the old acquaint- 
ances of our hero's babyhood, all from the same genu- 
ine source of romance as his " Devil on Two Sticks," 
his wt Devil of the Danube," and his " Devil of the 
Opera." 

Having discussed the professional merits of Mr. 
Wieland, the reader may probably 'feel curious re- 
specting the private habits of the man so distinguished 
by his supernatural emotions. lam enabled — it is 
with considerable satisfaction I avow it — to satisfy the 
laudable anxiety of the reader, and from the same au- 
thentic materials that have supplied the principal part 
of this notice. 



l8o SOME ACCOUNT OF A STAGE DEVIL. 

Mr. Wieland is a gentleman of the most retired and 
most simple manners. After the severest rehearsals 
of a new devil, he has been known to recreate him- 
self in the enclosure of St. James's Park ; and further, 
to illustrate his contemplative and benevolent habits, 
by flinging to the various water-fowl in the canal — 
by the way, in imitation of a great legal authority — 
fragments of cakes and biscuits. His dress is of the 
plainest kind, being commonly a snuff-colored coat 
buttoned up to the neck, a white cravat, drab small- 
clothes, and drab knee-gaiters. A gold-headed cane, 
said to have been in the possession of Cornelius Agrip- 
pa, is sometimes in his hand. He is occasionally in- 
duced to take a pinch of snuff, but was never seen to 
smoke. His face is as well known at the British 
Museum as are the Elgin Marbles, Mr, Wieland hav- 
ing for some years been employed on a new edition 
of the " Talmud." Although a German by birth, Mr. 
Wieland speaks English with remarkable purity, hav- 
ing had the advantage of early instruction in our lan- 
guage from a British dramatist, who, driven from the 
stage by the invasion of French pieces, sought to earn 
his precarious bread as a journeyman doll-maker 
with Mr. Wieland, senior. We could enter into fur- 
ther particulars, but shall commit a violence upon 
ourselves, and here wind up what we trust will hence- 
forth prove a model for all stage biographies. 

The inquiring reader may possibly desire to learn 
how we became possessed of the valuable documents 
from which the above narrative is gathered. To this 
we boldly make answer : we blush not whilst we 
avow that our dear friend Dullandry has a careless 



THE CASTLE-BUILDERS OF PADUA. l8l 

habit of carrying his most valuable communications 
for " The Wet Blanket" in his coat pocket : and that 
only on Thursday last we overtook him, with his pa- 
pers peeping from their sanctuary, when, — when, in 
a word, the temptation was too much for us, and the 
consequence is, that the readers of " The New Month- 
ly " have " Some Account of a Stage Devil." 

Why should all dramatic truths be confined to the 
impartial and original pages of " The Wet Blanket " ? 

1838. 



THE CASTLE-BUILDERS OF PADUA. 

GIULIO and Ippolito were sons of a farmer liv- 
ing near Padua. The old man was of a quiet 
and placable temper, rarely suffering any mischance 
to ruffle him, but, in the firm and placid hope of the 
future, tranquillizing himself under the evil of the 
present. If blight came upon his corn one year, he 
would say 'twere a rare thing to have blights in two 
successive seasons ; and so he would hope that the 
next harvest, in its abundance, might more than com- 
pensate for the scarcity of the last. Thus he lived 
from boyhood to age, and retained in the features 
of the old man a something of the lightness and vi- 
vacity of youth. His sons, however, bore no resem- 
blance to their father. Instead of laboring on the 
farm, they wasted their time in idly wishing that for- 
tune had made them, in lieu of healthy, honest sons of 



I S3 THE CASTLE-BUILDERS OF PADUA. 

a farmer, the children of some rich magnifico, that so 
they might have passed their days in all the sports 
of the times, in jousting, hunting, and in studying 
the fashions of brave apparel. They were of a hu- 
mor at once impetuous and sulky, and would either 
idly mope about the farm, or violently abuse and ill- 
treat whomsoever accident might throw in their way. 
The old man was inly grieved at the wilfulness and 
disobedience of his sons, but, with his usual disposi- 
tion, hoped that time might remedy the evil ; and so, 
but rarely reproving them, they w r ere left sole masters 
of their hours and actions. 

One night, after supper, the brothers walked into 
the garden to give loose to their idle fancies, always 
yearning after matters visionary and improbable. It 
was a glorious night ; the moon was at the full, and 
myriads of stars glowed in the deep blue firmament. 
The air stirred among the trees and flowers, wafting 
abroad their sweetness ; the dew glittered on the 
leaves, and a deep-voiced nightingale, perched in a 
citron tree, poured forth a torrent of song upon the 
air. It w T as an hour for good thoughts and holy as- 
pirations. Giulio threw himself upon a bank, and, 
after gazing with intentness at the sky, exclaimed, — 

" Would that I had fields ample as the heaven 
above us ! " 

" I would," rejoined Ippolito, " I had as many 
sheep as there are stars." 

" And what," asked Giulio, with a sarcastic smile, 
" would your wisdom do with them?" 

" Marry," replied Ippolito, " I would pasture them 
in your sageship's fields." 



THE CASTLE-BUILDERS OF PADUA. 1 83 

" What ! " exclaimed Giulio, suddenly raising him- 
self upon his elbow, and looking with an eye of fire 
upon his brother, u whether I would or not? " 

" Truly, ay," said Ippolito, with a stubborn sig- 
nificance of manner. 

" Have a care," cried Giulio, " have a care, Ippo- 
lito ; do not thwart me. Am I not your elder 
brother?" 

" Yes ; and marry, what of that? Though you 
came first into the world, I trow you left some man- 
hood for him who followed after." 

" You do not mean to insist that, despite my will, 
despite the determination of your elder brother, you 
will pasture your sheep in my grounds? " 

" In truth, but I do." 

" And that," rejoined Giulio, his cheek flushing, 
and his lip tremulous, " and that without fee or rec- 
ompense ? " 

" Assuredly." 

Giulio leaped to his feet, and, dashing his clinched 
hand against a tree, with a face full of passion, and 
in a voice made terrible by rage, .he screamed, rath- 
er than said, " By the blessed Virgin, but you do 
not ! " 

" And by St. Ursula and her eleven thousand vir- 
gins, I protest I will." This was uttered by Ippolito 
ill a tone of banter and bravado that for a moment 
made the excited frame of Giulio quiver from head 
to foot. He gazed at the features of Ippolito, all 
drawn into a sneer, and for a moment gnashed his 
teeth. He was hastily approaching the scoffer, when, 
by an apparently strong effort, he arrested himself, 



184 THE CASTLE-BUILDERS OF PADUA. 

and, turning upon his heel, struck hastily down 
another path, where he might be seen pacing with 
short, quick steps, whilst Ippolito, leaning against a 
tree, carelessly sang a few lines of a serenata. This 
indifference was too much for Giulio ; he stopped 
short, turned, and then rapidly came up to Ippolito, 
and, with a manner of attempted tranquillity, said, 
" Ippolito, I do not wish to quarrel with you ; I am 
your elder brother ; then give up the point." 

" Not I," replied Ippolito, with the same immova- 
ble smile. 

"What, then, you are determined that your sheep 
shall, in very despite of me, pasture in my fields? " 

" They shall." 

" Villain ! " raved Giulio ; and ere the word was 
well uttered he had dashed his clinched hand in his 
brother's face. Ippolito sprang like a wild beast at 
Giulio, and for some moments they stood with a hand 
at each other's throat, and their eyes, in the words of 
the Psalmist, were " whetted " on one another. They 
stood but to gain breath, then grappled closer. Ippo- 
lito threw his brother to the earth, huddling his knees 
upon him ; furious blows were exchanged, but scarce 
a sound was uttered, save at intervals a blasphemous 
oath or a half-strangled groan. Giulio was complete- 
ly overpowered by the superior strength and cooler 
temper of his brother ; but, lying prostrate and con- 
quered, his hands pinioned to his breast, and Ippo- 
lito glaring at him with malicious triumph, he cursed 
and spat at him. Ippolito removed his hand from his 
brother's throat, and ere his pulse could beat, Giulio's 
poniard was in his brother's heart. He gave a loud 



THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 185 

shriek, and fell a streaming corpse upon his mur- 
derer. The father, aroused by the sound, came hur- 
rying to the garden ; Giulio, leaping from under the 
dead body, rushed by the old man, who was all too 
speedily bending over his murdered child. From 
that hour hope and tranquillity forsook the father ; he 
became a brain=sick, querulous creature, and in a few 
months died almost an idiot. Giulio joined a party 
of robbers, and, after a brief but dark career of crime, 
was shot by the sbirri. 

Ye who would build castles in the air — who 
would slay your hours with foolish and unprofitable 
longings — ponder on the visionary fields, the ideal 
sheep of Giulio and Ippolito. 



THE "LORD OF PEIRESC." 

THERE are readers who may, possibly, prepare 
themselves to receive the " Lord of Peiresc " 
as the hero of a tale of chivalry, of old romance — 
of a story full of the marvels of the world in its 
simplicity of age, when the dreams of the fabulist 
were a part of the realities of life, imparting to life 
its characteristic tone and color. We hasten to dis- 
appoint such, assuring them that "Nicholas Claudius 
Fabricius, Lord of Peiresc," was really and truly a 
denizen of this world — a man with a heart brimful 
of love towards his fellows — a man who was at 



lS6 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 

once a pattern of the gentleman, the nobleman, and 
the scholar. Nothing can be more beautiful than the 
details of his long, amiable, and useful life, as written 
with affectionate regard by his friend Petrus Gas- 
sendus ; and, believing that the taste of the general 
reader is not yet become too vitiated by the sugared 
nothings of many of our present phrase-mongers to 
relish the fine homeliness of the early biographer, we 
shall, in due course, proceed to select from him two or 
three passages, in which, by a few artless strokes of 
truth, the a Lord of Peiresc " is painted to the life ; 
in which he looks, and moves, and has his being. 

We have three reasons for attempting the present 
paper. The first is the real interest appertaining to 
the subject ; the second arises from a hope of win- 
ning a reverent attention to an all-but-forgotten name ; 
the third, from a belief that the biography of Peiresc 
is not commonly met with, and, at a first glance, 
may seem to promise but meagre entertainment to 
the general reader. There is, we allow, some husk 
about the book : but it possesses a kernel sweet and 
toothsome to those who have fed at the simple, 
healthy tables of the old writers, and have drank 
purity and strength from their maple cups. Sterne 
glances laughingly at Peireskius, and D'Israeli, in his 
" Curiosities," has a passage in honor of his scholarly 
sagacity ; but we know of no book, no essay, which 
has, in popular form, exhibited the kindliness, the 
simplicity, and the utility of the sage and the philoso- 
pher to the admiration of the general reader. And 
yet was Peiresc the friend and correspondent of the 
worthiest Englishmen — Camden, Selden, Sir Rob- 



THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 187 

ert Cotton, Sperman, Harvey, John Barclay, and oth- 
ers. Throughout France, Holland, and Italy, he 
was sought for and honored by all the learned ; the 
sweetness of his disposition and the innocency of 
manners endearing him to men of every shade of 
faith. Peiresc, as limned by Gassendus, is the living 
picture of a scholar of the seventeenth century, of a 
man rising above the superstition of his time, yet 
with a mind slightly tinged by the romantic spirit of 
his age. We see in Peiresc the hearty struggle be- 
tween new-born inquiry and ancient dogma : his 
mind boldly asserts itself in natural speculation, when 
not narrowed and hampered by the tyranny of 
early teaching. For instance, in 1608, it was re- 
ported by the husbandmen that a shower of blood 
had fallen, which " divines judged was a work of 
the devils and witches, who had killed innocent young 
children." This, however, Peiresc " counted a mere 
conjecture, possibly, also, injurious to the goodness and 
providence of God," and therefore sought for a natu- 
ral solution to the seeming wonder. An incredible 
number of butterflies had preceded this " red rain." 
Peiresc shut up " a certain palmer-worm which he 
had found, rare for its bigness and form." In due 
time " the worm turned into a very beautiful butter- 
fly, which presently flew away, leaving in the bottom 
of the box a red drop as broad as an ordinary sous." 
He thus satisfactorily accounts for the shower of 
blood ; doubtless to the discomfiture of those who, 
"benefiting by the ignorance of their hearers, might 
have turned it to a profitable account. There was, 
it appears, a shower of blood in the time of Childe- 



I S3 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 

bert — in the time of King Robert', that is, if we 
may take the comment of Gassendus in the discovery 
of Peiresc, there were in those seasons innumerable 
butterflies. However, the intelligence that enabled 
Peiresc to defeat superstition in its " showers of 
blood," did not serve him to snatch " sorcerers " from 
its wild and cruel hands. It was his opinion that 
" though magicians have not so much commerce with 
the devil as is supposed, yet ought they to be pun- 
ished for their bad mi?id" For the signs, the stig- 
mata by which the sorcerer was popularly known, 
Peiresc doubted their genuineness ; " they might be 
natural, and belong to some peculiar of that disease 
which is termed elephantiasis." Our philosopher 
was doubtless wrought into this opinion by the 
agonies of a priest of Marseilles, " accused of magic, 
but freed by the court, having been first pricked all 
the body over, to find out these same insensible 
places stigmatized by the devil, which could nowhere 
be discovered." What a melancholy, though instruc- 
tive lesson is this ! Peiresc, the humane, enlightened 
philosopher, a cold advocate for the accused sor- 
cerer ; the champion of light bearing witness for 
darkness ! This was in 1608 ; some years, it is true, 
before the appearance of our own Sir Thomas 
Browne, at Bury St. Edmunds, the destroyer of 
" Vulgar Errors," errors learned too against his own 
exploded witches. 

Nicholas Claudius Fabricius Peireskius, was of 
noble family, coming, says Gassendus, from the !Fa- 
bricii of Pisa, who settled in Provence in the time of 
Saint Louis. He was born in the castle of Beaugen- 



THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 1 89 

sier, on the ist of December, 1580, whither his 
parents had retired from Aix, in consequence of the 
plague then raging in that city. His father was a 
senator of Aix, and his mother, selected for her come- 
liness by Catherine Medicis to receive " the honor of 
a kiss," on the Queen Mother's visit to that place, 
was descended from nobility. Nicholas assumed the 
name of Peiresc " from a town in his mother's juris- 
diction." The following circumstance displays the 
spirit of the times. Gassendus says, " His parents 
having lived together divers years without a child, 
his mother, for that cause, as soon as she perceived 
she was great, took up a resolution that the child's 
godfather should be no nobleman, but, such was her 
piety, the first poor man they should meet with ! " 
And so it happened ; the poor man giving our scholar 
the name of Claudius, to which was prefixed, by the 
special request of his uncle, who hastily arrived at 
the fount, that of Nicholas. An accident that befell 
our baby scholar shows that wicked spirits marked 
him for their early victim. For — 

" It is reported, that when he was hardly two 
months old, an ancient woman, that was a witch, en- 
tered the chamber, and threw down before his mother 
a hatchet which she had in her hand, saying that she 
had brought it her again." 

From what follows, it would appear to have been 
very dangerous in the year 1580, in Beaugensier, to 
return a borrowed hatchet ; for from the moment 
the dame brought back the weapon " the mother 
lost her speech, and the child his crying ; and both 
their heads were so depressed upon one shoulder, and 



190 



THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 



held so stiffly in that posture, that they could not bend 
them." The story says further, ." that when his uncle 
knew it, he caused the old woman to be beaten, who 
was found in the chimney with her neck upon one of 
her shoulders, who, as soon as ever she lifted up her 
head to signify that she had beating enough, and to 
desire them to hold their hands, she said, which ap- 
peared to be true, that the mother and child were 
both well." 

On this Gassendus sensibly remarks, " Doubtless 
'tis a very strange thing that an old hag, bowing her 
own neck, should dart out spirits with so strong a 
nerve as to turn the head of one distant from her in 
like manner aside ! " Perhaps Sir Kenelm Digby 
would account for it by the presence of " powder of 
sympathy," touching the powers of which he made a 
wise discourse " in a solemn assembly of nobles and 
learned men at Montpellier in France." The young 
Peiresc, despite of all the uncomely old women of 
Provence, passed through his boyhood unhurt by 
witchcraft, every day displaying new proofs of that 
restless curiosity which in all its after successes made 
him the oracle of his contemporaries. No trifle es- 
caped his observation — no accident, however slight, 
but ministered to his thirst for a knowledge of the 
principles of things. He is eighteen, " washing him- 
self in the lesser streams of the river Rhodanus," 
when he finds the ground, " which was wont to be 
even and soft," grown hard, with " little round balls 
or bunches, like hard-boiled eggs when their shell is 
peeled* off." This sets him wondering, but his as- 
tonishment is increased "when, after a few days, 



THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 



I 9 I 



returning to the river, he finds those little balls or 
lumps turned into perfect stones." On this he begins 
to study "the generation of stones." In Italy— for 
he departs for Rome in his nineteenth year — he sees 
in a museum " a sprig of coral which grew upon a 
dead man's skull," and he resolves " to go and see 
men fish for coral." In his progress to Rome he was 
entertained by the learned, who wrote verses to him 
as " the genius of Provence in France." On their own 
grounds, in their own academies, Peiresc was enabled 
to solve antiquarian doubts, to discover truths, and 
correct errors, to the delight and astonishment of 
native wise men and philosophers. 

" But in what esteem he was in at Padua " we 

quote Gassendus — " this one thing does testify ; that, 
whereas the print of a sapphire being sent thither 
from Augsburg, with an inscription, in which the 
word Xiphia did puzzle all the curious antiquarians, 
Pimellus writ unto him referring unto him the exami- 
nation and judgment thereof. I omit how he satisfied 
their doubts and gave light to that word, chiefly from 
Strabo, who, from Polybius, makes mention of the 
hunting of Xiphia, which was a sea-monster." 

The reputation of young Peiresc reaches the Pope 
himself; for our scholar and his brother being desirous 
to see his Holiness wait upon the poor men 4i whom 
he daily feeds," thought of this expedient: they 
" bought the turns of two poor men, and putting on 
their clothes, they were present among the rest ; and 
though the Pope knew who they were, yet he 
pleasantly dissembling his knowledge, and taking no 
notice of them 5 they saw all." 



I92 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 

Peiresc was in his twenty-third year when he yielded 
to the oft-repeated desires of his uncle, and received the 
degree of a doctor ; which degree " he carried with so 
much alacrity and vigor, that did ravish all the by- 
standers with admiration." Two days after, he con- 
ferred the " doctoral ornaments" upon his younger 
brother, making a discourse which " filled the minds 
of his hearers with sweet content ; " the argument of 
which may not be familiar to every reader : — 

"For from a certain statue of Metrodorus, with his 
hat, Arcadian cap, and labels, with his philosopher's 
cloak, and ring on his left hand ; also from certain 
statues of Hippocrates w T ith the like cloak and an 
hood upon it ; from a certain inscription of Eubulus 
Marathonius, and a statue with labels not about his 
neck, but his head ; from the like statues of Plato, 
Theophrastus, Phavorinus, and others ; out of certain 
gothic pieces, upon which there were mitres, not 
much unlike caps ; in a word, out of innumerable 
other monuments, he showed how the use of those 
ornaments came from the Greeks to the Latins, and 
so down to us ; and how, from the philosophers and 
ancient priests, it was by degrees introduced among 
the professors of several sciences in our modern uni- 
versities I " 

The degree of doctor is yet upon Peiresc " in its 
newest gloss," when he receives the king's patent 
appointing him to the dignity of senator of Aix, his 
uncle having resigned in his favor. He, however, de- 
clines for a time the privileges of the patent, and, 
" having obtained a delay, he applies his mind to 
more free studies, to court the sweeter and more de- 



THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 



X 93 



lightfnl Muses, to advance good arts, and to help as 
much as in him lay the promoters of learning." And 
to these high, ennobling ends he devoted all his life, 
waving a profitable match in favor of his brother, and 
betaking himself to the sea-coast " to search out all 
the monuments of antiquity, and to get in travel the 
rarest plants, which were to be sent to the garden of 
Beaugensier." Our fair readers will, we are certain, 
be happy to know to whom they owe " flowering 
myrtles," with the accident — so prettily told by 
Gassendus — that led Peiresc to its discovery. 

" About this time (1605), when Peiresc went from 
Marseilles to Beaugensier, he would needs take his 
way by Castellet to visit the parish priest called 
Julius, whom he already dearly affected by reason of 
his ingenuous curiosity. Being by him led a little 
without the village, they met a muleteer carrying a 
branch of myrtle with a broad leaf and full flower, 
such as Peireskius had never seen, nor knew that 
there was such a thing in nature. Wondering, there- 
fore, at the plant, he would be brought into the mid- 
dle of the wood where it grew, and caused the same 
to be taken up, that it might be manured and propa- 
gated. . . . This I thought good to mention, because 
a myrtle tree with a full flower was a thing unknown 
in Europe; and the thanks are due to Peireskius 
that it is now to be seen in the king's gardens, at 
Rome, in the Low Countries, and other places." 

In the same year (1605), we find Peiresc at Paris, 

courted by Thuanus, Isaac Casaubon, and Bagarrius, 

" keeper of the lung's jewel-house of rarities ; " to the 

last of whom our antiquary explained the hitherto 

*3 



194 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 

unknown inscription on an amethyst, marked with 
indents, " which had long perplexed inquirers." It 
immediately occurred to Peiresc " that these marks 
were nothing more than holes for small nails, which 
had formerly fastened little lamiitce, which repre- 
sented as many Greek letters." Peiresc drew lines 
from one hole to another, and the amethyst revealed 
the name of the sculptor ! In the following year, 
Peiresc accompanies the French king's ambassador 
to England. For the benefit of the thousands who 
cross the Channel, we quote the means adopted by 
our voyager to prevent extreme sea-sickness : — 

u Peireskius, to prevent the same in himself, left the 
rest of the company, and sat by the mainmast, where 
he was not so sick as they were. The reason being 
asked, he said there was least agitation in that part of 
the ship, and that, therefore, -he withdrew himself 
thither, that he might not be stomach-sick, as the rest 
were, who, being in the head or stern, were much 
tossed." 

Peireskius is graciously received by James, who 
" tenderly respected him ; " and who desired to have 
" from his own mouth" the story which had preceded 
him — of how, drinking with a toper of great repu- 
tation, one Doctor Torie, he baffled the drinker by 
"craftily qualifying" his own wine with water! 
With James a little humor went a great way, and 
thus on a small stock of that much-abused commodity, 
Peireskius might have passed with the English Solo- 
mon as- an extraordinary wag. From England our 
philosopher goes to Amsterdam. Whilst staying at 
the Hague, " he would not depart until he became 



THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 1 95 

acquainted with Hugo Grotius," then a young man. 
From the Hague he stepped aside to Scheveling, 
where was the famous flying wagon. 

" On my return from Leyden through the Hague 
(quoth Doctor Slop, not Gassendus), I walked as far 
as Scheveling, which is two long miles, on purpose to 
take a view of it." 

" That's nothing," replied my Uncle Toby, " to 
what the learned Peireskius did, who walked a mat- 
ter of five hundred miles, returning from Paris to 
Scheveling, and from Scheveling to Paris back again, 
in order to see it, and nothing else." 

In 1607 Peiresc assumed the senatorial dignity, 
when he so executed " his office, that nothing was 
found wanting him," and still was left to him time 
enough " to study good arts, and to maintain his cor- 
respondence with learned men." At the latter end 
of this year, he lost his Uncle Claudius, whose " most 
faithful dog followed the corse all along, stood waiting 
upon the bier, could not for many days be gotten 
from the tomb, and after he was brought back to the 
house, stood a long time still before his picliwe" 
(This last touch of affection is not unworthy of the 
consideration of Landseer. What a mourner would 
he conjure up by the exquisite magic of his art !) In 
1609 Peiresc was affected with a severe fever, when 
he recovered, as he avers, by eating muskmelons, 
which in after years became his principal medicine. 
From this time he busies himself with the coins, 
weights, and measures of the ancients ; and whilst 
engaged in these studies, has a dream in which he 
meets with a " goldsmith at Nismes," when the gold- 



I96 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 

smith offers to sell hini a golden piece of Julius 
Caesar's coin "for four cardecues," which incident 
actually occurred to him in his waking hours next 
day, but which " he reckoned only amongst those rare 
cases which are wont to amaze the vulgar." 

From 1609 until 1630 we find Peiresc in constant 
communication with the learned of various countries 
— now deciphering inscriptions — now establishing a 
weekly post between Beaugensier and Paris — and 
ever intent upon the introduction of exotics, plants, 
and fruits into Provence. To him we owe the Chi- 
nese jessamine, " first brought from China, planted at 
Beaugensier, and from thence propagated." It was 
he who first cultivated in France u the gourd of 
Mecca, or silk plant, because it bears plenty of 
threads not unlike silk, ft to weave into stuffs." He 
planted cocoa trees, " and saw them bud ; but whether 
through the coldness of the air, or because they were 
not well looked to, they came not to that perfection 
which he desired." We next learn that " ginger did 
wax green in his garden." 

"I say nothing (we quote Gassendus) of the broad- 
leaved myrtle, with the full flower of the storax and 
lentisc tree, which yields mastic ; and other plants 
mentioned before. Much less shall I speak of the 
great American jessamine, with the crimson-colored 
flower ; nor of the Persian, with a violet-colored 
flower ; nor of the Arabian, with a full flower ; of the 
orange trees, with a- red and parti-colored flower; of 
the medlar and sour cherry, without stones ; Adam's 
fig tree, which Peireski us conceived to be one of those 
which the spies brought back that went to view the 



THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 197 

land of Canaan ; the rare vines which he had from 
Tunis, Smyrna, Sidon, Damascus, Nova Francia, and 
other places." 

There have been volumes enough, and too many, 
recording the guilt and madness of conquerors, whose 
lives were a curse to the bleeding world. The kind, 
gentle, enlightened benefactor of his race, who silently 
makes his foreign conquests grow and blossom in our 
gardens — who carries away the jessamine captive, 
and clothes our walks with its beauty, and scents our 
colder air with, its sweetness ; who gives to the poor 
the cheap and the lasting luxury of flowers — deserves 
a grateful memory among men, a memory growing 
and spreading with his gifts. The victories of the 
Caesars are recorded by a few medals, shut up in the 
cabinets of museums, in the drawers of the virtuoso : 
the glories of men like Peiresc are still green among 
us — still glitter with the dews of the morning — still, 
with their constant sweetness, " scent the evening 
gale." Nor must we fail to record that the benevo- 
lent labors of Peiresc were continued, whilst he suf- 
fered acutest tortures from a disease which at last ex- 
hausted him. In the Easter of 163 1 he was, " sitting 
without his door, at the entrance of his garden," 
struck with a sudden palsy, which deprived him of 
motion and speech. This he suffered for a whole 
week, when " somebody singing curiously an hymne 
of the Lives of the Lily and the Rose, he was so 
taken with the sweetness of the song, and the elegancy 
of some strain or other, that, like the son of Croesus, 
desiring to utter some words, and particularly these, 
4 How excellent is this ! ' he forthwith uttered them, 



I98 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 

and at that very moment his limbs were all freed 
from the palsy." In this year an extraordinary 
foreigner arrived at Toulon — no other than an ele- 
phant lately exhibited at Rome. Peiresc caused the 
stranger to be led to Beau gen sier, where he took a 
cast of his grinders in wax, and had him painted in a 
lying posture, "that his joints might be seen," to the 
confusion, we presume, of the sceptics, who denied 
any such advantages to the quadruped. In 1633, 
Peiresc entertained " the famous poet Santamantius " 
at Beaugensier, who had a brother, a traveller, who 
had seen in Java " live-wights, of a middle nature 
between men and apes ; " whereupon Peiresc quotes 
the authority of another traveller, a personal friend, 
and a physician, who had seen in Guinea " apes 
with long, gray, combed beards, almost venerable, 
who stalk an alderman's pace, and take themselves to 
be very wise." Our readers may have possibly be- 
held animals of this species. 

In 1634 we find Peiresc studying hard at anatomy, 
which he follows with a degree of enthusiasm per- 
haps not altogether justifiable to the non-professional 
reader. Smitten by the theory of Asellius with re- 
spect to the " milkie veins in the mesentery," which 
" could not be discerned save in a creature living 
and panting, and that therefore they could not be 
observed in a man, whom to cut up alive was 
wickedness, yet did he not therefore despair" To 
be brief, a poor wretch condemned to be hanged — 
before sentence was performed — was by the order 
of Peiresc " fed lustily and securely," and an hour 
and a half after death was carried to the theatre of 
anatomy, where the wished discovery was effected. 



THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 



I 99 



Peiresc, having suffered intolerable agony for a 
month before his decease, died in the sixty-fifth year 
of his age. The account of his sufferings is written 
by Gassendus with that graphic simplicity which 
makes the charm of the book, but which, in defer- 
ence to this over-nice age, we will not venture to 
copy. The portrait of the philosopher is in the hap- 
piest style of the unaffected biographer. 

" He was, therefore (to begin with his stature), of 
a middle and decent pitch, neither too tall nor over 
low. The habit of his body was lean, and conse- 
quently his veins conspicuous, both in his forehead 
and hands. His constitution, as it was subject to 
diseases, so was it none of the strongest ; which 
made him in his latter years to go with a staff. And 
for the same reason, his members were easily put out 
of joint; especially his left shoulder, which was three 
times dislocated. His forehead was large, and apt to 
be filled with wrinkles when he admired anything, or 
was in a deep study. His eyes were gray, and apt to 
be blood-shotten by the breach of some little vein. He 
fixed his eyes either upon the ground when he was seri- 
ously discoursing upon any subject, or upon the audi- 
tors when he perceived they were pleased with what 
he said. He was a little hawk-nosed ; his cheeks be- 
ing tempered with red, the hair of his head yellow, as 
also his beard, which he used to wear long. His 
whole countenance carried the appearance of an un- 
wonted and rare courtesy and affability : however, no 
painter had the happiness to express him such as he 
was in deed and in truth." 

To our mind this portrait is painted with all the 



200 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 

force of life. We see rare old Peireskius ; we see 
the learning and the contemplation of the scholar — 
in his large forehead, " apt to be filled with wrinkles" 

— tempered and made gracious by the kindliness of 
nature and the breeding of a gentleman. He is clearly 
one of Montaigne's men — a fine specimen of the sim- 
ple, sterling book-men, with stored skulls and gentle 
hearts. What a capital contrast is Nicholas Fabn- 
cius to the literary coxcomb, — 

"Who, having writ a prologue with much pains, 
Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains" ! 

What a relief from the " fardonnez-mois " of litera- 
ture — the be-scented and be-lioned petlings, who 
spoil " wire-wove " with Babylonish verse and prose 

— who, drawing their fingers through their raven 
locks, swear, " By Gad ! " they've " writ a d — d fine 
book," and vote all men vulgar fools who dare gain- 
say it. To continue from Gassendus : — 

u Though he was careful that the clothes he wore 
abroad might not be unsuitable to his dignity, yet he 
never wore silk. In like manner, the rest of his 
house he would have adorned according to his con- 
dition, and very well furnished ; but he did not at 
all, in a manner, regard his own chamber. Instead 
of tapestry, there hung the pictures of his chief 
friends, and of famous men. His bed was exceed- 
ing plain, and his table continually loaded and 
covered with papers, books, letters, and other things ; 
as also all the seats round about, and the greatest 
part of the floor." 

In his gardens at Beaugensier he was " delighted 



THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 201 

with the pleasant verdure of plants, beauty of flowers, 
gentle murmur and purling noise of brooks and water- 
streams, together with the various songs of little birds,, 
which, in the winter, we are told, he caused to be 
fed w r ith corn, forbidding any one to catch or molest 
them. 

"Moreover he preferred the singing of birds be- 
fore the voices of men or any musical instruments — 
not but that he was therewith delighted, but because, 
after the music that men made, there remained in his 
mind a continual agitation, drawing his atte??tio?i, 
and disturbiitg his sleep; the rising, falling, and 
holding of the notes, with the change of sounds and 
concords running to and fro in his fancy ; whereas no 
such thing could remain in the birds' music, which 
[we dispute the " because " here advanced], because 
it is not so apt by us to be imitated, it cannot there- 
fore so much affect and stir our inward faculty. He 
would also, for the same cause, continually breed up 
nightingales and such like small birds, which he kept 
also in his own chamber, and of which he was so 
careful, that he learned, by divers signs and tokens, 
what they wanted or desired, and presently would 
see them satisfied. They, therefore, as out of grati- 
tude, would sing unto their benefactor hymns of 
praise ; and whereas, in his absence, they were for 
the most part silent, as soon as ever, by his voice or 
staff, they perceived he was coming, they would fall 
to singing." 

The above presents us with a charming picture of 
the kind old scholar amidst his books and manu- 
scripts, his medals, vases, and singing nightingales ! 



202 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 

There were, however, other inhabitants of the cham- 
ber, though we are left unsatisfied as to their conduct 
towards the minstrels. "And by reason of mice, 
which did gnaw his books and papers in his cham- 
ber, he became a lover of cats, which he had formerly 
hated : and whereas, at first, he kept a few for neces- 
sity sake, he had, afterwards, a great company for 
his delight. For he procured out of the East ash- 
colored, dun, and speckled cats, beautiful to behold ; 
of the brood whereof he sent to Paris and other places 
to his friends." 

(In this ingenuous avowal of Gassendus there is the 
gem of a delicious essay. How many a man has be- 
come the lover of a cat in some shape — of a cat for- 
merly despised — " by reason" of devouring mice! 
How many have been brought to endure and love the 
lesser evil when found to be the only remedy for the 
greater plague! There was — to quote one instance 
from a hundred — Jack Spangle, the gay prodigal 
Jack Spangle, a fellow shapely and agile as Mercury. 
He had the loudest laugh, the blackest mustache, 
and the whitest teeth of any spark of the day. Mrs. 
Sybil, the rich, withered widow of a scoundrel money- 
lender, looked feloniously upon him — she was de- 
termined to become the wife of Jack Spangle. Jack 
saw and shuddered at her purpose. O, how Jack 
Spangle abominated, loathed, anathematized Mrs. Sy- 
bil ! In the depth and intensity of his hatred, he in- 
vented new terms of horror and disgust : it was merri- 
ment for his friends to hear him swear at the widow 
Sybil. Three years passed away, and a former com- 
panion met Jack and the widow man and wife. " The 



j 



THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 203 

fact is, my dear fellow," said Jack, stepping forward 
to his acquaintance — " the fact is, I lost every far- 
thing I had — was flung by creditors into jail — hadn't 
a penny to — humph! eh? — I — Allow me to in- 
troduce you to Mrs. Spangle." Jack was a second 
" Lord of Peiresc ; " we do not mean to assert that he 
became a devoted lover of his ancient wife ; but she 
was rich, he was penniless and in prison, and he 
married her " by reason of the mice." The " mice" 
have married many besides Jack and the widow.) 

" The Lord of Peiresc" displays, in all his bearings, 
a finished portrait of the scholar and philosopher of 
the seventeenth century. There is the simplicity, the 
modesty, the kindliness of a truly great and well- 
regulated mind. It is to such men — lightly as their 
labors may be esteemed by a more imaginative gen- 
eration — that we owe the greatest benefits. They 
were the collectors of facts to be employed by their 
successors — the gatherers of materials to be worked 
up into a thousand shapes of beauty and utility by 
those who should follow them. In the time of Peiresc, 
when the hard student — an anchorite amid his books 

— was considered by the vulgar as little less than 
liegeman to a magician, if not a necromancer himself, 

— when the large black dog of the scholar was the 
malus genius of his mysterious and devil-doomed 
master, — our philosopher was peculiarly fortunate in 
the advantage of birth and means : they afforded him, 
in station and power, a security and respect among 
men not too liberally awarded to the indigent book- 
man. He was " The Lord of Peiresc," and the patent 
of the senator gave grace and authority to the investi- 
gations of the philosopher. 



204 THE LORD OF PEIRESC. 

The purpose of this slight paper has been to beg 
of the " general reader " a short pause for the con- 
sideration of the lineaments of a great, though almost 
unregarded benefactor of letters ; to take him from 
the candid conceits of these our most refined and deli- 
cate times, to the healthful simplicity of earlier days. 
Not that, with rash, bigoted judgment, we would 
sneer at the antiquarians of 1837 : tnere are among 
them wise, profound teachers ; men of great discove- 
ries ; men who have seen 

" the portrait of a genuine flea, 

Caught upon Martin Luther loug ago " ; 

and will, therefore, walk upon tiptoe to their graves, 
drawn up by a prodigious sense of their own great- 
ness. Let them have their " peppercorn of praise ; " 
and let small lecturers to the weariness of boarding- 
schools talk their hour of nothings: all we ask is, 
some passing attention to the early student — the 
pioneer in the field of letters and of science. Whilst 
we do not envy, but wonder at the rich appointments 
of well-paid sciolists, let us refresh our memory with 
a view of our old philosopher in his study, and some- 
times let our heart u 4eap up " as cheerfully as his 
own nightingales at the staff of the " Lord of 
Peiresc." 

i837- 



BREVITIES. 205 



BREVITIES. 

FORTUNE is painted blind, that she may not 
blush to behold the fools who belong to her. 

Fine ladies, who use excess of perfumes, must 
think men like seals — most assailable at the nose. 

Some men get on in the world on the same princi- 
ple that a sweep passes uninterruptedly through a 
crowd. 

People who affect a shortness of sight must think 
it the height of good fortune to be born blind. 

He who loses, in the search of fame, that dignity 
which should adorn human nature, is like the vic- 
tim opera-singer who has exchanged manhood for 
sound. 

Lounging, unemployed people may be called of the 
tribe of Joshua, for with them the sun stands still. 

Fanatics think men like bulls — they must be baited 
to madness ere they are in a fit condition to die. 

There is an ancient saying, u Truth lies in a well." 
May not the modern adage run, " The most certain 
charity is at a pump " ? 

Some connoisseurs would give a hundred pounds 
for the painted head of a beggar, that would threaten 
the living mendicant with the stocks. 

If you boast of a contempt for the world, avoid 
getting into debt. It is giving to gnats the fangs of 
vipers. 

The heart of the great man, surrounded by pover- 
ty and trammelled by dependence, is like an egg in a 



206 BREVITIES. 

nest built among briers. It must either curdle into 
bitterness, or, if it take life and mount, struggle 
through thorns for the ascent. 

Fame is represented bearing a trumpet. Would 
not the picture be truer were she to hold a handful 
of dust? 

Fishermen, in order to handle eels securely, first 
cover them with dirt. In like manner does detraction 
strive to grasp excellence. 

The friendship of some men is quite Briarean — 
they have a hundred hands. 

The easy and temperate man is not he who is most 
valued by the world ; the virtue of his abstemious- 
ness makes him an object of indifference. One of 
the gravest charges against the ass is — he can live 
on thistles. 

The wounds of the dead are the furrows in wdiich 
living heroes grow their laurels. 

Were we determined resolutely to avoid vices, the 
world would foist them on us — as thieves put off 
their plunder on the guiltless. 

When we look at the hide of a tiger in a furrier's 
shop, exposed to the gaze of every malapert, and 
then think of the ferocity of the living beast in his 
native jungle, we see a beadle before a magistrate — 
a magistrate before a minister. There is the skin of 
office — the sleekness without its claws. 

With some people political vacillation heightens a 
man's celebrity — just as the galleries applaud when 
an actor enters in a new dress. 

If we judge from history, of what is the book of 
glory composed ? Are not its leaves dead men's skin 



PIGS. 207 

— its letters stamped in human blood — its golden 
clasps the pillage of nations? It is illuminated with 
tears and broken hearts. 

1831. 



PIGS. 



ADDRESSED TO THOSE " ABOUT TO LEAVE BUSINESS. 



MISERABLE are those thrifty traders, who, 
* having crammed their bags " e'en to bursting " 
with gold and bank paper, shut up shop, and endeav- 
or gradually to accustom themselves to the sight of 
green turf, ere they are called upon to sleep under it. 
Mr. Pettitoes was one of those unhappy beings. He 
had, in his day, shed oceans of pigs'' blood, and had 
grown immensely rich by the sanguinary employ- 
ment. One day, however, his evil genius whispered, 
11 Pettitoes, sell your business, and go live at your 
ease in the country. " We much doubt whether the 
suggestion of the genius would have of itself pre- 
vailed, had it not been most opportunely backed by 
the whirling by of the handsome carriage of Mr. Fig- 
dust, late grocer of Oxford Street, but then Cincinna- 
tus of Battersea Rise. Enough : Pettitoes " sold his 
business:'' behold him in the country. 

Pettitoes had a fine family — three daughters, born, 
it would seem, with a mortal hatred of pigs — a 
splendid house, gardens beautifully laid out, gra- 



208 PIGS. 

peries, pineries, arable land, peacocks strutting on the 
lawn, and golden pheasants glittering in the wire 
preserves. To these delights may be added The 
Morning Advertiser, every day ; and had he deigned 
to consult them, the twenty new novels (subscribed 
for by the young ladies) every week. What greater 
delight could fall to the fate of a retired pork-butcher, 
tainted with the touch of the romantic? And yet, 
after a time, Mr. Pettitoes lost his customary suavity, 
became careless of his attire of gentlemanly cut, and 
once or twice struck his family with consternation, 
by handling, in an absent and mysterious manner, 
his father's ivory-hafted killing-knife, religiously pre- 
served by his pious son. Mrs. Pettitoes and her'daugh- 
ters — unanimous for once — declared that Mr. P. " was 
not at ease. What could be the matter with him ? " 

Unreflecting souls — they had their new novels, 
the last new songs of the butterflies, lectures on chem- 
istry, and the Egyptian hieroglyphics, to occupy their 
minds — but not so Mr. Pettitoes: he, indeed, in the 
eloquent language of his sympathizing family, u was 
not at ease." Could they have entered into his mind, 
they would have seen how grotesquely were reflected 
there all the beauties of surrounding nature. To his 
mental vision, every oak, beech, or elm seemed to 
take the shape of a huge " hand " or " leg " of swine's 
flesh — a hedge of hornbeam was but a Brobdignag 
loin — the row of poplars so many gigantic skewers 
— Sylph, the Italian greyhound, had bristles in his 
back, and the peacocks did not scream, but grunt. 
Gentle reader, let not this description of our hero's 
mind appear forced and extravagant. It is the com- 



PIGS. 209 

mon malady of the retired trader to assimilate the 
objects of rustic life to the things of his former and 
happier state. As the sailor beholds " green mead- 
ows in the salt seas, and hears the bleating of the 
sheep," so does the retired tea-dealer or pawnbroker 
(w r e, of course, mean those with whom books are 
nought) clothe the fields and hedges with hyson and 
souchong, and see the three balls, glistening like Vir- 
gil's golden branch, from every tree. Could they 
write their confessions, what drolleries would they 
not give us — what hackney coaches running in the 
milky way — what skylarks singing the two-penny 
postmen's bells — what Naiads and Hamadryads 
frisking it in comely whitey-brown aprons and 
elbow sleeves. Thus it was with Mr. Pettitoes : all 
his dreams, his waking feelings, ran on pigs; it was 
in vain that he tried to divert his mind bv reading. 
He sent for " Hogg's Tales," but was disgusted and 
disappointed. Shakespeare was only saved from his 
contempt by two lines. " ' Where hast been, sister? * 
' Killing swine ! ' " O, acutely wretched is that gold- 
en wretch, who, dragged by Plutus from the joyous 
town, creeps over fields and adown hedges, twisting 
buds and flowers into numerals and £. s. d. The 
glorious sun is to him but a bright new shilling, and 
when he gazes at the moon, he reads there " Georgius 
IV., Dei Gratia Rex!" 

Our friend Pettitoes wrestled with circumstances, 
but it was in vain ; he succumbed to the ruling pas- 
sion, and, like a true philosopher, it was observed 
that he displayed a greater serenity of mind, when it 
was evident that he knew the worst. His fami- 



2IO PIGS. 

ly wondered at his composure ; they were still more 
astonished when they discovered its cause ; for it is 
a curious fact — a fact well worthy of the atten- 
tion of those " about to retire from business" — that 
from the moment Pettitoes had resolved once more 
to keep pigs, from that moment he became more civ- 
ilized and companionable. Great, however, was the 
terror of the wife and daughters when they discov- 
ered that, to receive the purchased pigs in due state, 
it had been deemed necessary by Mr. Pettitoes to de- 
'molish a magnificent green-house. The fuchsias, the 
geraniums, the ranunculuses, gave way to boars and 
farrow sows, with long-tailed pigs, short-tailed pigs, 
pigs with crispy tails, and pigs minus such decora- 
tions. Mrs. Pettitoes was astonished — the young 
ladies vehemently remonstrated. Pettitoes, however, 
flew from domestic strife, and solaced himself at the 
pigsty. There, at all times, might he be seen, his eye 
gliding up and down some plethoric porker, as 
though, in his mind's vision, he was cutting up the 
breathing animal into hands, legs, loins, and chops. 
Had Pettitoes been transformed by Circe, he would 
have surely w r ept when set again upon his two legs. 
In order, as he thought, to mollify the ire of his wife 
and daughters, our tradesman christened his grunting 
family after the heroes and heroines of modern poems, 
novels, and songs. There might be seen, located in 
various sties, " Pelham," and u Eugene Aram," the 
" Lost Heir," and " The Man of Refinement." " Sa- 
tan " was a great boar, and u Alice Gray " had a far- 
row of thirteen. This desecration of all that the fe- 
male Pettitoes held beautiful only served to whet 



PIGS. 211 

their disgust at pork, and to send Mr. Pettitoes from 
his carpeted room, hung round with genuine Mor- 
lands, to obtain tranquillity and enjoyment at the pig- 
gery. P^or some time was our tradesman satisfied 
with looking at the objects of his affection : it was 
enough for him to see the backs of his darlings widen, 
and the legs to become massive with the best of fat. 
At length, however, he felt his native thirst for blood, 
and it was observed that, after a time, he never vis- 
ited the piggery without fumbling about at his knife. 
It was in vain — he gave himself up to fate — he 
would take his old shop. He did take it, paying the 
tenant an immense premium to go out. When Petti- 
toes' wife and daughters learned his resolution, they 
fainted ; it is said that for three days horrible shrieks 
were heard in the neighborhood. Fortunately, how- 
ever, for the gentle sex, " a woman," as Madame de 
Warens might have said, " who screams is not dead." 
Pettitoes was not called upon to go in sables. The 
ladies, of course, did not accompany Pettitoes to 
town ; no, they kept the country-house, and lived 
with their fitting companions, the peacocks and the 
golden pheasants. 

Pettitoes re-opened his shop : the day he again ap- 
peared in public his face had a fresher glow — his 
steel glittered in the morning sun — his apron and 
his sleeves never looked so blue. In fact, he appeared 
more than a vulgar butcher — there was a certain 
regimental air about him ; indeed, it might have been 
said of him, as of a great general, he looked " butch- 
er to the king." By degrees the piggery at Battersea 
Rise was cleared of its inhabitants. A large part of 



212 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 

"Childe Harold" was minced into sausages — "Eu- 
gene Aram " was once more anatomized for the bene- 
fit of the public — the family of " Alice Gray " went 
at from seven to ten shillings each — "Satan" was 
drained into black puddings, and " The Undying 
One " hung for two days, with a gash from ear to 
ear. 

Of course the family never deigned to visit Pettitoes 
at the shop. Too proud, however, w T as the husband 
and the father, if his wife and daughters, at their 
country residence, would suffer him to send them 
down a joint of pork. They had their novels, their 
harps, and their auriculas — but Pettitoes was again 
in business ; he had his apron, his knife, and his 
pigs. 1832. 



SILAS FLESHPOTS; A "RESPECTABLE 

MAN." 

" A Y, indeed," cried the stone-cutter, " a most 
y\ respectable man." This declaration of the 
giver of posthumous fame was intended to emphati- 
cally confirm the opinions of a previous speaker, — 
as we afterwards learned, the sole executor of the 
lauded deceased. We cannot, for a certainty, publish 
the true cause of his whereabout at the time of which 
we write — but we speak from the indubitable evi- 
dence of our senses when we avow, that last week, 
passing through the suburban village of Longerdash, 



SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 213 

we saw Mr. Timbrel in the stone-yard of old Cherub, 
then gravely and patiently at work on the virtues of 
the defunct Silas Fleshpots. Cherub, albeit he had 
polished the same alehouse bench every night for the 
last forty years — albeit he had married thrice, and had 
economically divorced himself once — although he 
had been a Tory with Mr. Pitt, a Whig with Mr. Fox, 
and a Radical with Mr. Henry Hunt — yet lived and 
breathed in an atmosphere of charity for all men. 
His calling had taught him benevolence. Like a true 
philanthropist, he conceived that what the superficial 
— in the poverty of language — call vice, was nothing 
more than a mistake ; and thus, in the philosophy of 
Cherub, a most inveterate scoundrel was no other 
than an habitual blunderer. How could it be other- 
wise with one w T hose crude theories were ever and 
anon demolished by elaborate practice? Let the 
most egregious lie — said a great politician — be re- 
peated for a year, and it will be universally believed. 
On the like principle, if, gentle reader, you have at 
times been disturbed by your neighbor beating his wife, 
or cruelly horsewhipping his children — if you have 
known him to refuse a single shilling to an old deserv- 
ing acquaintance, and have heard him blaspheme 
in his last sickness — all such vague impressions of 
his iniquity shall fade from your mind, if compelled to 
labor, chisel in hand, at his epitaph. How can a man 
with any self-respect consider another a brute, when 
he may have toiled for hours to declare, in freestone 
or marble, that he was a loving husband, an affection- 
ate lather, and a warm friend? Every chipping of 
the stone knocks away a bit of uncharitableness, and 



214 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 

what, considered in the whole, would have been re- 
jected as a fulsome lie, becomes, from the minute and 
patient labor bestowed upon every atom of it, a radi- 
ant truth. (Historians, who very properly trust more 
to style than the dulness of fact, know full well the 
value of this process.) And why have we speculated 
so far down the page on the causes of the charity of 
stone-cutters? Why, simply out of respect for old 
Cherub; for — we must own the doubt — had the 
sepulchral chronicler been questioned at the Hare- 
and-Hounds touching the moral qualities of the la- 
mented Fleshpots, it is just possible (for there is a 
potent mischief in some ale) the world had wanted 
our opening eulogy. But we repeat, it is hard, after 
sweating to establish the respectability of a person, 
to be called upon to deny our own handiwork. 
Thus " respectability " being chiselled at large in the 
tombstone of Fleshpots, the artist could not well pro- 
nounce him to be any other than " a most respectable 
man." 

Perhaps Mr. Jonas Timbrel — for he was allowed 
to be the most precise and business-like of any of the 
five trustees of Frankincense Chapel — stood at the 
skirts of Cherub, to perform the pious duty of super- 
intending his orthography (for the ill spelling in 
epitaphs is a triumphant evidence of their distracting 
pathos on the artist) ; it is not impossible, on the 
other hand, that he watched the workman for this 
cogent reason — he could find nothing else to do. Be 
this as it may, we have proved no less than many 
profound antiquarians who have written on Stonc- 
henge and the Round Towers ; we have demonstrated 



SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 215 

where he was, and may surely leave the purpose for 
which he was there a matter of dark yet interesting 
doubt. Timbrel, having made a rapid fortune in the 
exercise of a most laudable calling, as slop-seller at 
Shearness, having for many a year " relieved the 
hardy Tar," had retired to the village of Longerdash, 
to await, with the calm dignity of a Roman senator, 
the approach of the barbarian, Death. In this he 
did but imitate the wisdom of the best philosophers, 
who, withdrawing from the foul contact of the world, 
have sought to purify and elevate their spirits in soli- 
tude and contemplation. " Pitch defileth : " Tim- 
brel felt, we may say all over, this important truth. 
In the pursuit of his vocation, he had been thrice 
tarred and feathered. It has been thought due to the 
memory of Fleshpots — due to his wise appreciation 
of character — to say thus much of his chosen friend, 
to whom we are indebted for the following history. 

(It is a curious and not an idle employment to mark 
the rise and progress of a particular word, when that 
word has become the distinguishing motto of no mean 
portion of the world ; to observe its different shades 
and manifold diversions from its original line and 
bent ; to note how it has passed of current value in 
one reign, and then been cried down with the clipped 
coin and pocket-pieces in the next. To us, who have 
trifled away some time in this inquiry, " respecta- 
bility," in its various modifications, has been of no light 
interest. We have followed the word through centu- 
ries, and having been made to stare by some modern 
interpretations, we stopped dead short at the emphasis 
of the stone-cutter. Particular words may be indeed, 



2l6 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 

like the men who abuse them, of a noble origin — 
synonymous with honor, greatness, glory : they come at 
last to dignify meanness and disguise deceit. " Tact," 
" talented," though now in tolerable odor, consider- 
ing the hard duty they are put to, may in half a 
century change their present application ; and what 
is now liberally bestowed upon patriots and players 
may be the exclusive property of highwaymen and 
pickpockets. We mark this paragraph in paren- 
theses, in the hope that the " light reader" will avail 
himself of the privilege it bestows.) 

We shall narrate the biography of Fleshpots in our 
own words, the style- and phraseology of Timbrel — 
who had evidently, though without acknowledging it, 
built himself on the author of The Urn-Burial — be- 
ing, we fear, at once too gorgeous and too dusty for 
our purpose. We shall serve his words as Cato — 
really a respectable man — was accused of dealing 
with the remains of his brother Caepio ; we shall pass 
then through our own sieve, to separate the gold 
from the cinders ; and this gold we shall melt, and 
twist r and hammer after our " own sweet will." 

To the honor of Silas Fleshpots, be it said, he came 
of no questionable origin ; for the bar sinister in his 
shield had been duly proved — that is, sworn to — 
before a leash of magistrates : thus there remained no 
doubt to puzzle future heralds ; the parish had its book 
— its libra d' oro — and the overseers of St. Sepulchre 
have ever been famous for a fine bold hand. Hannah 

Shields lived at : as the house yet remains, 

and its present landlord intends to apply for leave to 
play a fiddle and piano, we will not name the sign : 



SILAS FLESHPOTS; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 2l*J 

the peccadillo of sixty years since might, indeed ought, 
to weigh with a scrupulous magistracy. It is enough 
to say, that the mother of Silas, before she was his 
mother, lived in the primitive capacity of maid. 
After his birth, she, of course, quitted her vocation ; 
from a mere maid she became — indeed it often hap- 
pens— a most respectable housekeeper. But let us 
not anticipate. 

Hannah's young mistress, the eldest daughter of 
the landlord, was, in the graphic words of her ex- 
pressive father, « a perverse [we will take it upon 
ourselves, though we lose a letter, to substitute] puss." 
Even her sisters owned she was not ill-looking ; but 
then her temper was most extraordinary. Though 
bred where she had the peculiar advantage of view- 
ing every shade of character, from the lightest to the 
blackest, her manners were alike to all ; though, for 
twenty years she had listened to the English language, 
in its most various and energetic developments, her 
own vocabulary was poor as a nun's. When a 
u gentleman at the bar" — as her paternal guardian 
was wont to say — swore to her beauty, he might, for 
the effect it produced upon her, as well have declared 
himself to the sign over the door. This insipidity 
could not but irritate the best of fathers. Her sisters 
had married wealthily ; and Ellen was twenty, and 
still single. Her father could not but tremble for the 
effect of her coldness ; and once overhearing a ticket- 
porter swear that " she wasn't flesh and blood, but a 
pictur," the miserable parent gave her up as lost. 
His fears, however, made him precipitate. She was 
not to be lost ; for a rich distiller declared his love, and 



2l8 SILAS FLESH POTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 

in proof of his passion drank his nightly ten glasses 
of brandy-and-water, mixed by the compelled hand 
of Ellen, although the bibulous suitor more than 
once vowed that her fingers froze it. We regret to 
say it, nobody spoke well of Ellen — if Ave except the 
beggars that hung about the door — and a certain pale- 
faced young man, one Thomas Roper, the aforesaid 
distiller's clerk, whose praise, it will be owned, was 
worse than blame — since, though receiving fifteen 
pounds per year, to be divided with his widow 
mother, Thomas Roper wasted his master's time in 
reading poetry, and, what was worse, trying to write 
the same. It was a profound secret ; but at the time 
of which we speak, he had appeared in print. 

The distiller grew more ardent — the father more 
imperative. Ellen's eyes became redder, her cheeks 
whiter ; Ellen was to be married ! At this inter- 
esting juncture, Hannah forfeited the esteem of the 
best of masters — she who had been so trusted, so 
caressed, she who would have been left with un- 
told gold, had her master ever left gold in that pre- 
dicament ! Let us be brief. The landlord com- 
menced with his son-in-law elect, the distiller called 
in a friend, a pious, excellent man, and — what else 
could be done? — Hannah was charged to confer the 
honor of paternity. Hannah showed her conscience, 
and kissed the book ! We would wish here to drop 
our pen ; in charity to the weak persons who honor 
literature, we would be dumb ; but what was to be 
expected of a youth who wrote verses — love verses? 
Of course the father was the distiller's clerk ! We 
are grieved to add, that the young man, not being 



SILAS FLESHPOTS; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 2IQ 

persuaded even by the solemn oath of the betrayed 
victim, rejected the proffered honor; and when 
blandly asked by the proper authorities to marry her, 
he swore too — swore, and refused. He had no 
money — had no friends : he was therefore, in default 
of marriage, sentenced, in the patriotic words of the 
magistrate, to serve on board a man-of-war, in de- 
fence of his king and country. In one little week, 
poor Thomas — that is, Thomas— was scraping a 
ship's timbers at the great Nore — his mother was 
weeping, day and night, in the poorhouse ; Ellen 
had been supported, like a corpse, to the altar with 
the distiller, and Hannah had been carefully lodged 
in two very comfortable attics. Ellen did not survive 
the birth of her first child. Sorry are we to say that 
she spoke of death as a happy release ; when dead, 
there was found among her little trinkets a leaf of the 
Gentleman's Magazine, in which was " Lines to 
Ellen," with a lock of hair enclosed in what was 
meant for a letter, but which bore only the words 
"Tower Tender, Decern—"; the writer having 
been surprised in his attempt at illegal communica- 
tion " with the shore." In two years the distiller 
died of apoplexy ; and, until of late, it was feared 
that many important chemical secrets, of great value 
in his business, had died with him. Happy are we 
to say, there is every reason to believe that such is not 
the case. 

We now come, and our readers must pardon our 
long preface to the event, to the birth of our hero. 
By an extraordinary coincidence, he was baptized 
Silas — a remarkable accident, for such happened to 



220 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 

be the sponsorial appellation of the pious yet humble 
friend of the late distiller. And yet a little thought 
clears away the mystery, and places the gratitude of 
Hannah Shields in the most ineffable light. Impressed, 
no doubt, with the paternal care — the elder Silas was 
sixty — of that excellent man, as exhibited in his in- 
dignation at the false young clerk, she bestowed upon 
her child the honored name of her disinterested cham- 
pion. There was a thankful delicacy in the act not 
to be mistaken. Nor were her obligations confined 
to the loan of the name ; she likewise owed to the 
senior Silas the furniture of the before-named two 
attics. This was true benevolence, for the good man 
never vaunted of the act ; his dearest friends knew 
not of his charity, nay, he had kept it a secret from 
the wife of his bosom. Pity that a carnal defect in 
his education should have caused the slightest in- 
convenience to so worthy a creature. But we are 
pained to state that ere his godson — yes, we may 
as well own it, the little Silas found in him a god- 
father — was two years old, the sponsor had been 
elected treasurer of an uncertain Benefit Society. 
The members could not have made a worse choice ; 
the ingenuous, simple soul knew no more of figures 
than of Chinese ; he was a signal victim to his igno- 
rance of arithmetic. Of this defect was he so trem- 
blingly conscious, that nothing could induce him to 
pass his accounts. Though earnestly sought after by 
all the members — nay, though invited by newspapers 
and handbills — he was so morbidly alive to his want 
of skill in numbers, that he replied to no single in- 
quiry. Such sensibility it may be hard to believe, 



SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 



221 



but he would not even show himself. Retiring from 
public hie, he many years after died, and in his bed 
baint Sepulchre's - indeed from his earliest days it 
was expected -did its final duty by the youthful 
fellas ; he was placed apprentice to a conscientious 
tallow-chandler at Limehouse. His mother at this 
time had dwelt for three years housekeeper to a tide- 
waiter in the same neighborhood. Now, the good 
soul though she became, Sunday after Sunday, and 
love-feast after love-feast, more practically serious, - 
_ though she had thrown into the flames her well- 
thumbed copy of George Barnwell, and was become 
a yearly shilling subscriber towards the conversion of 
the Jews, — still, as the sequel will exemplify, she 
persisted in the indulgence of a most extraordinary 
piece of fiction ; and this it was : Her son had grown 
tor twelve years under the honored name of Shields • 
She now insisted that he should commence his ap- 
prent.ceship as Fleshpots. What the woman meant 
by such caprice we know not, especially as she be- 
came more vehement in this her resolution, after hear- 
ing an eloquent discourse on the sinfulness of false 
witnessing. Briefly, to the wonderment of several 
authorities, Silas was bound in the name of * * * * 
the ex-treasurer. We can only say with Mr. Otway,' 
•* women have strong constitutions." 

Silas, it- must be owned, was a sharp, shrewd lad • 
his master never doubted his cleverness; but when' 
in the first week of his service, he had sent into circu- 
lat.0.1 two bad dollars and a shilling, many a time 
unsuccessfully proffered from the till by his employer 
he from that moment rose in the estimation of Mr' 



222 SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 

Sol ; but only rose to rise still higher, when — on two 
of the counterfeits being brought back by the custom- 
ers, the one the wife of a sailor, and the other a lit- 
tle girl — he, in the most civil, but withal determined 
tone, declared they must be mistaken ; neither dollar 
nor shilling could have issued from " their " tiil ; they 
were not in the habit of taking bad coin ; besides, 
people should look at their money before they left a 
shop. On his next club night Mr. Sol could not re- 
frain from speaking of the extraordinary sharpness 
of his apprentice, though he did not particularize the 
special cause of his eulogy. After this time, Silas 
waxed great in the house ; what medals of victory are 
to the soldier, the three pocket-pieces were, in the 
eyes of his master, to our apprentice, who wisely 
argued, that if bad money were unfortunately taken, 
bad money should be u got off. 9 ' Are not many re- 
spectable people of the like just opinion ? 

Mr. Sol was growing rich. Despite the heavy ex- 
cise, he continued to flourish ; and we may say not 
too much when we avow that Silas flourished with 
him. He would have been completely happy but for 
the persecution of Betsy, the housemaid, who, whether 
he would or not, was determined on loving him. He 
had hinted this to his mother, who failed not to be- 
stow the most virtuous abuse on the " forward hussy ; " 
at the same time declaring that women were horribly 
altered since she was young. Besides, Betsy was ab- 
solutely a parish apprentice. She was, it is true, 
buxom and good-tempered ; and yet, with all this, 
she would love Silas ; who, it must be confessed, was 
too respectable in his views to encourage two young 



. 



SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 223 

ladies at the same time. Amelia Sol, a gentle 
maiden not quite thirty, had fixed the apprentice; 
though whether by the prospect of her father's shop 
and good-will, or whether by her own beauty, — for 
she had, with other equal charms, a furtive expres- 
sion of eye, sometimes called a squint, — we know not. 
Certain it is, they burned with a mutual flame ; and 
Silas, when the term of his apprenticeship had but a 
few hours to run, with an undaunted face opened the 
business to his excellent master. 

"Why, see ye, Silas," — and Mr. Sol looked and 
spoke like any one of the five hundred cosy old gen- 
tlemen in the old comedies, — "Amelia is certainly be- 
yond your match. It is true you have been a very in- 
dustrious lad ; but then Amelia expects great offers. 
You have — I don't deny it — behaved very respect- 
fully — up early and down late — saved me many bad 
debts. But then Amelia cost me a great deal of 
money ; the card-cases and the tea-rug are her own 
work. I own you understand your business ; but 
then Amelia — " 

At this interesting moment Mr. Sol was called into 
his shop, and from thence went into his room, accom- 
panied by three, evidently unexpected, visitors. This 
interruption was particularly unfortunate ; for Mr. Sol 
had made his mind up to give Amelia to Silas, but 
very prudently withheld a sudden consent, in order to 
make the gift more precious. Though Silas knew 
not that the line had been written, he then felt that 
" the course of true love never did run smooth '* — for 
the first time in his life this respectable apprentice 
could have sworn. Intense love made him needlessly 



224 SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 

impatient ; for, on the same evening, his worthy 
master re-opened the business with a clear determi- 
nation to " make two lovers happy." With this lau- 
dable view, he commenced, and had got as far as, 
" Well, Silas, as a virtuous woman is a crown of 
glory," when the apprentice interrupted him. 

Silas rose from the chair to which he had been po- 
litely invited by his patron, and with praiseworthy 
deference, his hands hanging at his sides, and his 
head inclined somewhat forward, thus addressed 
him : — 

" Your pardon, worthy sir, for my presumption this 
morning. I have considered the error of my ways, 
and now repent of my audacity." 

" Well, well, it was a bold deed : but you're a lad 
of spirit, Silas; and a faint heart never won — eh ?" 
And here the master chuckled a laugh, and gave a 
searching wink, though, for its effect, he might as 
well have winked at a dead man, or a dead wall ; for 
Silas, unmoved, proceeded : — 

" Feeling, sir, that your excellent daughter is far 
above me — " 

" Ay, ay ; but I'm the last man to brag of family. 
If we come to the truth, all the same flesh, Silas ; and 
so — " 

Silas was not persuaded by the philosophy of his 
master ; for he continued to apologize, until, op- 
presssed by his repentant diffidence, Mr. Sol jumped 
from his seat, ran to the stairs, and called Amelia ; at 
the word the modesty of Silas strengthened into reso- 
lution. With an assured air he was retiring towards 
the door when the maiden entered ; it was a critical 



SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 225 

moment. Taking Amelia by the hand, her parent 
advanced to Silas, who, shrinking, still retreated, — 
his master still talking, and following him up, and 
the gentle virgin blushing a deeper red at every syl- 
lable. In this manner the three had just completed 
the circuit of a tolerably large room, and Mr. Sol, 
with a gush of affection, accompanied with admirable 
pantomime, just " like one of those harlotry play- 
ers," had exclaimed, "Take her, and bless ye both," 
when Silas vanished. Had the floor opened and 
swallowed him, father and daughter could not have 
been more astounded ; they stood, each with an open 
mouth, petrified by his retreating steps, which in the 
awful silence told with horrible distinctness ! How 
long their astonishment might have lasted passes our 
speculation to say, had they not been violently brought 
back to this world by the street door, which, turning 
on its infernal hinges, " grated harsh thunder" ! On 
this a flood of tears relieved the forsaken Amelia, 
whilst a torrent of oaths comforted her father. The 
benevolent soul was struck to the core by the ingrati- 
tude of his late apprentice — for, from twelve o'clock 
that day, the indentures of Silas had been waste 
parchment. Was it possible that he could know of 
the mishap of the morning ? O, no ! Had Silas been 
aware that the best of masters was exchequered to 
double the amount of his worldly goods for only de- 
frauding the excise, he would have been the last to 
leave him ; for left him he most assuredly had ; as on 
the instant and anxious search of father and daughter, 
it was but too apparent he had sent away each and 
every of his three deal boxes. 
*5 



226 SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 

» The scoundrel came to my house with a bundle 
no bigger than my fist, and he quits my service with 

three boxes ! " , 

Something must be allowed to human infirmity; 
poor Mr. Sol was not so much disgusted at what Silas 
had taken, as what Silas had left. Amelia, who 
really loved the runaway, wept and said nothing. 
Beautiful is woman's gratitude! and Amelia was 
grateful for past favors : for Silas was the first and 
only "monster wearing the human form" who had 
ever said a civil word to her ! 

But we must not give up Silas undefended. It was 
not his fault if his master suffered his parlor keyhole 
to hunger for paper.' He had no wish to pry or listen ; 
but if people would talk in alt, whilst he moved like 
a mole about his business, family matters would 
cleave the ear, which, however it tried, could not be 
deaf. If Silas felt annoyed at the delinquency of his 
master, he was absolutely shocked that it should be 
found out; but the profligacy of Mr. Sol being made 
so public as the light of his namesake, was it prudent 
for a young man, just entering life, to ally himself to 
such a connection? His heart bled for Amelia; but 
the illiberal world would not discriminate : in quitting 
her, he felt he left his dearest hopes ; but would it be 
proper to marry " into such a family "—would it be 
respectable ? 

As we are touching on the various accidents of this 
one eventful day, we must not forget to chronicle an 
accident which befell Betsy — the despised, the dis- 
carded Betsy. About an hour after the visit of the 
three mysterious persons, of whom we have before 



SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 227 

spoken, it was notified to the housemaid — though 
we almost feel convinced that Silas heard no syllable 
of the discourse — that she was suddenly become the 
mistress of little less than live hundred pounds. A 
lottery-ticket and a blue-coat boy account for the wind- 
fall. " 

Silas was scarcely emancipated from the thraldom of 
apprenticeship, when he was doomed to endure — in 
addition to the loss of Amelia — another, and if possi- 
ble, a more bitter privation. The tide-waiter had 
been some time dead, and Mrs. Hannah Shields, re- 
tired on her means, lived as she could. Her son was 
the perfection of filial compliance ; for his mother, 
having in a hasty moment commanded him never 
again to appear before her (Silas had been some- 
what energetic in filthy money matters), he obeyed 
her to the very letter; nay, though he heard she was 
in her mortal sickness, he did not dare to violate her 
orders. Once, indeed, he approached the door, but 
was scared from the threshold by the appearance of 
the doctor's boy, about to deliver for the patient at 
least half a dozen phials. Silas wondered how the 
man of plrysic was to be paid. He had no money to 
spare ; and in his outset of life — for he would wisely 
harp on that string — to saddle himself with responsi- 
bilities which he had, as he conceived, no present 
means of paying, was not honest, was not respec- 
table. 

Death, however, despite of the doctor, marched 
sternly to his purpose, and, deaf to the shrieks and 
ravings of the poor soul, carried off his victim. Silas 
now conceived himself released from the injunctions 



228 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 

of his mother, and with filial haste rushed to the 
lodging, which, to his horror, he found stripped of 
nearly everything. He entered the room at the 
moment the nurse was curiously trying a small packet, 
in order to come at its contents without risking the 
felony of breaking the seal. Silas snatched at the 
missive, which he found directed in his mother's 
hand — that was never to be mistaken — to himself. 
Casting a disappointed glance about the w r alls, he de- 
scended the stairs to hide his emotion, and to break 
the parcel. He found it to contain minute directions 
for his mother's funeral, and — but why mention 
money at such a moment — - it likewise contained a 
hundred and fifty guineas. In a terrible letter, ad- 
dressed to her son, the miserable woman denounced 
herself as the worst of sinners, and with this deep 
sense of her own unworthiness, charged Silas not to 
lay out a penny more than was absolutely necessary 
on her burial. The young man, impressed with this 
solemn adjuration, as he conceived, most aptly ful- 
filled his duty by not spending one farthing on the cere- 
mony. He was so affected, that it was full ten days 
ere he could trust himself near his mother's late dwell- 
ing ; and then what was his mortification on learning 
that she had been interred at the parish charge 1 The 
authorities, urged by the nurse, applied to Silas for 
reimbursement ; at she same time hinting at the prob- 
able contents of the parcel, which, as he refused to 
pay, they required to see. On this point Silas was 
decided ; the packet contained family secrets, of no 
importance to any but himself; and would the over- 
seers wish to rake up the errors of the dead? No; 



SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 229 

they were too considerate to desire it ; and, for him- 
self, he trusted he was too respectable to permit it. 
The overseers were vanquished ; and Silas felt that 
the spirit of his mother was, on one point at least, 
appeased; for she had been put into the earth at the 
very least possible expense. With this comforting 
assurance, and wiping away some natural tears, Silas, 
with quite dry eyes, looked out for a shop. 

But a very few weeks elapsed ere our hero was a 
householder. Would we were equal to the task — it 
would cast a perpetual halo round our humble pen, 
could we faithfully describe the feelings of Mr. Silas 
Fleshpots running riot over Chinese bridges, vaulting 
over elephants' backs, and now expanding at the 
lorms and plumage of parrots and paroquets, and now 
brooding, with halcyon wings, on oriental lakes. Let 
not our reader marvel at these exotic images, though 
transported to London. We speak of Silas on the 
first Sunday of his housekeeping ; when, lying in bed, 
the sun shining (for this happened to be the sum- 
mer, when the sun was visible in every street in 
Limehouse), steeping in eastern light the bed cur- 
tains which encompassed the young beginner, and 
cast on him a trance of inexpressible delight. It was 
then the bed furniture, enriched with its multitudinous 
patterns of beast, bird, fish, and tree, exercised a 
mystic power on the rapt beholder. The elephants 
grew bigger, and twisted their little trunks in token 
of glad greeting — the palm trees grew and grew — 
the birds fluttered — the water rippled — yea, and a 
stream of melody floated underneath the tester! To 
the ecstatic eye of Fleshpots everything was real, was 



23O SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 

true ; and his ears drank in a living music. Whence, 
inquires the reader, all those wonders? Again we 
say, from the bed curtains. We think we can satis- 
factorily explain the miracle. Thus it was. When 
Silas, at twelve years old, was first brought to the 
unfortunate Mr. Sol, that beneficent man was con- 
fined to bed — suffering from a late supper of 
questionable mussels. — Sneer not, reader ; lampreys 
have dethroned kings !— The parish boy was natu- 
rally awe-struck ; every article in the presence-cham- 
ber was instaneously burnt, as with a branding-iron, 
into his tender memory. His moral being had, in 
that one minute, if we may use the word, stereotyped 
every object presented to his senses. Let the wonder 
of the boy explain the ecstasy of the man ; for the 
very curtains which impressed the child from St. Sep- 
ulcre's, actually hung, on the morning of which we 

speak, about the housekeeper of St. — . Every 

elephant was become his own, every tree, and every 
feather. We feel that a whole volume of meta- 
physics might hereon be written ; the matter for the 
task being no more recondite than faded bed furni- 
ture, and Silas Fleshpots, boy, contrasted with the 
same Silas, man. If the reader be a philosopher, we 
think he will understand us ; if he be not, we own, 
with him, the whole paragraph to be unutterable non- 
sense. 

So carried away were the feelings of Silas, so pos- 
sessed was he, by the changes of the past years, and 
the hoped glories of the future, that he had wholly 
forgotten a late most important ceremony. Yes ; his 
young wife, the good-tempered, red-faced Betsy lay 



. SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 23 1 

unthought of by his side. As the marriage, in 
consequence, no doubt, of the recent death of Mrs. 
Shields, had been so quietly celebrated, we may be 
excused for omitting to speak of it until the present 
moment. Silas, we conceive, vindicated his claim to 
the softer emotions by his union with Betsy : the poor 
girl — although, as we have before remarked, she 
was amiable and good-looking — loved him, and 
though his bosom was yet bleeding with the thoughts 
of Amelia, a victim to the misconduct of her father, 
he manfully determined on a self-sacrifice to pity, 
and, caring but little for Betsy, magnanimously mar- 
ried her. It was odd, but the sum won by his bride 
from Cooper's Hall was a few pounds over the 
amount required for the good-will of his late master's 
establishment. Silas might, indeed, have had time 
granted to pay the money ; but scorning all obligation, 
he thought it most independent to marry. With his 
previous savings, and — Plutus and his executive offi- 
cer alone know how money grows with some people 
— other trifles, he contrived to purchase the greater 
part of the furniture of his quondam employer ; among 
which were the elephantine bed curtains. On the 
very day which rose on Silas Fleshpots, stationed for 
the first time at his own shop door (as he stood with 
his sharp frost-colored face, and his intensely-mangled 
sleeves and apron, he looked the embryo possessor 
of at least half a plum), Mr. Sol exhibited himself to 
the philanthropists of Fleet Market, cooped in the iron 
cage for wicked debtors. And did Silas never think 
of Amelia? Sorry are we for human weakness to 
answer — Yes. It was she w T ho ruffled the honey- 



232 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAX. 

moon with the first quarrel ; for Mrs. Fleshpots, hav- 
ing occasion to enlarge the wardrobe of her husband 
by half a dozen new shirts, called in a foreign needle 
to assist her own. Now, Amelia was reduced to ply 
as a daily sempstress, and it was with considerable 
emphasis that Mr. Fleshpots accused his spouse of 
want of common feeling for her late mistress ; for, in 
his own words, he had no doubt that the " poor thing 
would have come just as cheap." 

Every day added to the wealth and respectability 
of Fleshpots ; indeed, there seemed with him a subtle 
sympathy between cash and character. They were 
the "twin cherries'' on his household stalk: in very 
truth they were so alike, that even Silas himself 
would at times have been puzzled to decide which 
was which ; fortunately his philosophy raised him 
above nice distinctions. It was not long ere Flesh- 
pots rose to an overseer ; from overseer he dilated 
into contractor — a love of purely financial operations 
then fell upon him, and he became, in quite an unos- 
tentatious way, bill-broker. Here was a wide field 
for his philanthropy ; we might, but we will not, 
cite a thousand instances of its operation. Did a 
young couple set up, especially in the tallow line, in 
his neighborhood — it was not long ere the kindest 
offers were made to them ; not indeed by Fleshpots ; 
no, he shunned the applause of such public goodness 
— but by his almoner, a friend who — on merely the 
written signature of the party — would sometimes pay 
down hard guineas. Palpable, glittering gold, for a 
few scratches of the pen ! It cannot be disguised that 
certain results, never contemplated by the original 



SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 233 

benefactor, would distress all parties ; but these acci- 
dents would only more strongly illustrate the worth 
of Fleshpots. He was not the man to oppress young 
beginners by clamoring for instant restitution ; no, no 
— he would give them months or years ; — and when 
grasping neighbors, he could have named, were mak- 
ing fifty per cent, he in scarcely one instance re- 
quired more than forty-five. And what bettered these 
transactions was the secrecy with which they were 
effected ; he knew that it might hurt the credit of a 
young tradesman, if a certain lease-security, or bond, 
or mortgage were known, and so, with delicate con- 
sideration, never breathed a word about it. On the 
contrary, where he had most served, there would he 
most praise : thus it was not unusual to hear the 
name of Fleshpots quoted as an example of consum- 
mate liberality— as of a man who "would live 
and let live." Of course, a few malign and envious 
spirits would spit their bitterness. It is painful to be 
compelled to believe, that in one very hard winter, 
when' Mr. Fleshpots, in the benignity of his nature, 
dispensed one pound of candles to each of fifty pauper 
families of six, there were people who sneeringly 
remarked that the donor had not long had the con- 
tract to supply the parish. Such aspersions were 
weak as they were wicked ; they could no more dim 
the bright respectability of Fleshpots, than they could 
tarnish the splendid silver wine-cooler presented to 
him on his retirement from office by a grateful vestry. 
" Wisdom is found," says an obscure poet, " with 
childhood about its knees ! " Let this be granted, 
and there never was a wiser being than our kind 



234 SILAS FLESIIPOTS ; A RESrECTABLE MAN. 

hero. No man took a more lively interest in the Sab- 
bath and parochial schools of Limehouse. The acu- 
men with which he examined the awe-struck scholars, 
his impressiveness when he came to the Decalogue — 
and here we are reminded of a touching circumstance, 
powerfully illustrative of Fleshpots' high sense of 
moral justice — of his exceeding fitness as an amateur 
instructor of youth. Being of the vestry, our hero 
received a small premium with a lad from the work- 
house, a boy whom — for he had no children of his 
own — it was his wish to make a great deal of. The 
boy was dull and delicate ; but his delicacy, as his 
master said, might have been looked over, had he 
been honest. Fleshpots, who taught two schools 
u not to steal," failed to impress the commandment on 
Peter. 

Our friend, as overseer, was, of course, appealed 
to by many worthless people — by persons who not 
only had very equivocal claims to any relief, but who 
certainly had no claim at all on the benevolence of 
Limehouse. Sailors are, proverbially, the most in- 
considerate and ignorant of men : thus Fleshpots 
was often pestered by the importunity of starving sea- 
men, who swore they w r ere of his parish, when he 
swore — for lie would sw T ear before seamen - — they 
were not. One day — time runs on ; Silas had been 
five-and-twenty years in trade — a wretched seafaring 
man, of more than middle age, came as claimant on 
the overseer, who, in terms not to be misunderstood, 
bade him troop for an impostor. The man — there 
was starvation in his looks — quitted the shop with a 
wicked oath, and Silas returned to his nap in his 



SILAS FLESHPOTS J A RESPECTABLE MAN. 235 

back parlor. No sooner had he closed the door, than 
Peter ran into the street, and beckoning to the sailor, 
put into his hands a part and parcel of his master's law- 
ful property. Fortunately for public morals, the 
boy was detected ; and, at the instance of Mr. Flesh- 
pots, confined in the proper asylum for all disobeying 
apprentices. 

The cook of Mr. Keelhaul, ship-owner, in the free- 
dom with which she parted with the refuse of the 
kitchen, bore a flattering testimony to the wealth of 
her employer. She had that day sold her merchan- 
dise to the tallow-chandler,and that comprised not only 
the usual perquisites, but five collops of fat meat, acci- 
dently, no doubt, thrown into the vessel. The trans- 
fer of this property had not been made ten minutes 
before the sailor, lawfully rebuffed by the overseer, 
quitted the door. Peter had seen the man — had 
heard his master — and yet Peter, as he thought, un- 
observed, purloined the identical pieces of meat, and 
ran and placed them in the hands of the tar. 

Let us not dwell on youthful depravity : suffice it, 
the boy was confined ; in his confinement enlarged 
his acquaintance, w r ho, in the end, tempted him to run 
from an excellent master. From small pickings, lie 
went on to serious thefts ; and — but what was to be 
expected? — Peter was hanged for highway robbery. 
This painful incident displays the wisdom of Flesh- 
pots — had he not, in the first instance, prosecuted 
Peter, the boy might have robbed, with impunity, till 
he became gray-headed ; whereas he was provi- 
dentially cut off at seven-and-tvventy ! 

Some three or four weeks after the theft of Peter, 



236 SILAS FLESHPOTS ; A RESPECTABLE MAN. 

as Fleshpots and Timbrel were settling some affairs 
of partnership, — this was soon after the removal of 
the latter gentleman from Sheerness, — the overseer 
was summoned on a coroner's jury. Attending at 
the due place and hour, he learned that the deceased 
was a sailor. On view of the bod}', he moreover dis- 
covered it to be that of the importunate beggar, for re- 
lieving whom Peter was then suffering durance. The 
man had been found dead ; how he died was not 
known ; some of the jury thought of too much liquor 
— some of too little food; Fleshpots inclined to the 
former opinion. However, the verdict ran that 
" Thomas Roper was found dead ! " Our readers 
must recollect the name of the deceased ; yes, the 
dead man — as proved by certain papers about him - — 
was no other than the verse-writing distiller's clerk — 
the profligate youth, who had rather chosen to 
scrape the hard ribs of a man-of-war than to endure 
the loving arms of Hannah Shields. We are happy 
to think, that in the body of Thomas Roper, Silas 
did not recognize that of his parent. No, we believe 
the delicacy of Hannah had always kept from her 
son the name and state of the author of his being. 
What would have been the anguish of Fleshpots, had 
he known he had been sitting on his own father ! 

The event, however, passed not without some slight 
pain — though all in the way of business — to Flesh- 
pots. Mr. Timbrel partook with himself the delight of 
affording assistance to destitute seamen. Money was 
lent them on their wages and prize-money ; and it so 
happened, that among other documents, faithfully de- 
livered by Mr. Timbrel to his partner, was an instru- 



Sjlas fleshpots ; a respectable man. 237 

ment which, ultimately, brought them in six hundred- 
percent. It was no other than the right to receive 
prize-money due to one Thomas Roper, and sold by 
him for something less than an old song toMr.TimbreL 
How one recollection awakens another!- It was 
then, and for the first time for many, many years, that 
Fleshpots recollected a certain paper, bequeathed to 
him by his mother, with the addition of seventy-five 
guineas, to be given to one Thomas Roper, sailor, 
whom in her own words she had " cruelly treated." 
Now, among the many thousand sailors, how was 
Silas to find out Thomas? And as for any cruelty 
on the part of his mother, it could not be ; the poor 
woman was beside herself with the terrors of near 
death. If he had known it had been the same 
Thomas! And this he said to himself— kind crea- 
ture ! — at least fifty times. 

And Silas continued to flourish. His wife, at the 
time of his retirement from business, — for we ap- 
proach that golden epoch, — had been dead some 
fifteen years. Silas felt her loss, was lone and soli- 
tary ; for, about the same time, he had been wounded 
by base ingratitude. A young tradesman, to whom 
he had lent a considerable sum, failed in his pay- 
ments, and escaped to America. It will illustrate the 
peculiar benevolence of our hero, when we inform 
our readers, so far from visiting the innocent partner 
of the villain with reproach and contempt, he, on the 
contrary, received her — though comparatively young 
and inexperienced — under his roof, in the trustwor- 
thy situation of housekeeper. Poor thing ! she re- 
ceived his dying words, and an annuity. 



238 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 

Fleshpots died fairly laden with respectability. He 
was the patron of twenty charities, and, towards the 
close of his life, never ate of a hot joint on Sundays. 
He died, and died in peace ; for the rerjorts that in his 
last moments he raved about twenty women in white 
squirting fire at him — of half a dozen devils, with 
pigtails, and in sailors' jackets, roaring about him — 
of vats of boiling gold, and such distempered non- 
sense — were, we believe, fully traced to the malice of 
a disappointed undertaker. 

Silas Fleshpots was a respectable man : this can- 
not be doubted. It is chiselled in his epitaph, — 
chiselled in large letters, — for it was especially or- 
dered in his will that his respectability should go 
forth, and stand forever — large. 

1335. 



THE TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT 
PACIFICATOR. 

THOSE of our readers who have had the good 
fortune to visit the Hague will probably recol- 
lect the White Hart, a humble, but remarkably neat 
hostelry, situated in an agreeable part of the most 
delightful of all European villages, a village particu- 
larly interesting to an Englishman and scholar from 
the great names associated with its air of learned re- 
tirement. The whole place seems a large college, 
with museum and gardens. We walk there, and 



j 



TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 239 

think of Sir William Temple, and Bolingbroke, and 
Boyle, and of twenty others, whose memories turn a 
Dutch village into an elysium of letters, who take us 
back a hundred years and more, and mate us people 
of the past, real flesh and blood of the eighteenth 
century. We doubt not that such have been the feel- 
ings of thousands of our readers who have visited 
the Hague ; but w r e know not whether we ought to 
express a regret that the enjoyment of such learned 
abstractions is in future denied them on their return 
to the circle of the Dutch court, for certain we are 
that they will no sooner learn the history of the illus- 
trious individual whose birth has given a glory to the 
White Hart than they will forget English ambassa- 
dors and English philosophers in the lively curiosity 
that will incontinently take them to the aforesaid pub- 
lic house. To begin our " true history." 

It was at the White Hart, on the 2d of December, 
in the year one thousand eight hundred and seven, in 
the left front chamber on the second story, that Die- 
drich Van Amburgh saw the light. He was pro- 
nounced by the vrow Kinderkid — a woman whose 
word, from her long experience in such matters, 
passed as an authority throughout the whole of the 
Netherlands — the finest man-child that in all her 
many days she had ever seen. Great was the re- 
joicing at the White Hart on the birth of little 
Diedrich. A Holland's tub was tapped, and every- 
body, from the solid burgher to the drudging boor, 
was pressed to drink long life and happiness to the 
new comer. 

We can, without any perturbation of conscience, 



24O TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 

declare that during a journey undertaken for no 
meaner purpose, we have met with no story, no 
legend, illustrative of the peculiar genius of our hero 
during the first six months of his eventful existence ; 
in fact, with nothing that, philosophically considered, 
can be viewed as a dawning or promise of Van Am- 
burgh's after glory ; for we are inclined to receive as 
apocryphal an anecdote offered to us for two guilders 
by a Rotterdam Jew, who professed himself ready to 
give an authentic pedigree of the story, an anecdote 
involving the character of the White Hart cat, said to 
have been looked into a palsy, in her attempt to steal 
the pap of Diedrich, the child lying at the time be- 
fore a fire of glowing turf, within eye-shot of the de- 
linquent. If the story be true, — though we must not 
forget that men are but too prone to invent w T onders 
for wonderful individuals, — it is an extraordinary in- 
stance of the early development of that faculty which 
has subsequently achieved such triumphs in the brute 
world. The cat (we speak on the authority of the 
Jew) was so completely fascinated, subdued, terrified 
by the glance of the babe that, in four-and-twenty 
hours the animal became, from a most beautiful j'et 
black, a dirty gray-white. Now, he who at six 
months old could look a black cat white may be 
reasonably expected at thirty years to change lions 
into puppy-dogs, and tigers into doves. Having 
given our faith to the first story, belief in all subse- 
quent wonders is easy to the meanest capacity. 

We are, however, happy to state that we approach 
a period of our hero's life at which we meet with 
\vell-a*uthenticated facts, with accounts of his ex- 



TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 24 1 

traordinary influence over the lower animals, sub- 
scribed to by three burgomasters of Rotterdam, and, 
therefore, documents pure and speckless as Runjeet 
Singh's lal'ge diamond. 

It was the good fortune of little Diedrich to have a 
godfather who was fully impressed with a sense of 
the child's abilities ; for, at the Amsterdam fair, he 
purchased a very splendid coral, hung round with 
twelve bells in little fancy oranges, — a delicate com- 
pliment on the part of the goldsmith to the house of 
Nassau, — silver gilt, all toned according to harmonic 
principles, the benevolent object of the sponsor being 
that his godchild should cut his teeth to the accompa- 
niment of the very sw T eetest music. The coral was 
hung about ine babe's waist, and a pretty rattling and 
ringing he kept up, laughing, and crying, and cooing, 
and teething all the while as if nothing was the mat- 
ter. Diedrich w 7 as ten months old when his father, 
who, in sooth, was never happy when the child was 
from his arms, took his babe with him into the cel- 
lars ; for, even in Holland, where British brandy is 
not, there are certain mysteries to be performed in 
vaults, which probably it is wisdom in those who love 
cellar comforts not too curiously to inquire into. 
There was the child crawling upon the ground, ring- 
ing his coral, squalling, crying, laughing ; our host, 
Van Amburgh, now chirping to his last-born, now 
singing a snatch of a Dutch melody, and now swear- 
ing affectionately through his teeth at some playful 
transgression of the pretty babe. At this moment 
Kidneyvat, the burgomaster of Rotterdam, alighted 
— if we may use such a word for so huge a man — 
16 



24- TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 

at the door of the White Hart, and instantly there 
was a loud calling through the house for Mynheer 
Van Amburgh. Our host rushed from the cellar, 
strange to say, forgetful of the child in hj^s precipi- 
tancy to do all honor to a Rotterdam burgomaster, 
who, on some official business, the object of which 
we have failed to discover, took the landlord from his 
house, keeping him until the late hour often at night 
from the hearthstone of the White Hart. He had 
left the house about three hours, when suddenly there 
arose a yell throughout the hostelry for the child. 
Every place was searched but the right one ; night 
drew on, and O, the horror, the consternation, that 
reigned throughout the White Hart ! Happily, how- 
ever, the host returned to his house at s^ven minutes 
to ten, and — the sternness of history refuses to con- 
ceal the fact — very drunk indeed was he, even for a 
Dutchman. His w T ife — but we refuse to describe, as 
we might, the affecting picture of maternal love ; it is 
enough to say that the words, " The child, Diedrich, 
darling, angel, innocent lost one ! " poured from the 
lips of the landlady, tears dropping from her eyes as 
she accosted her spirituous husband, somewhat stag- 
gered by her uneasiness, and a little moved -by the 
burgomaster's cheer. " Where — where's the child ? " 
exclaimed vrow Van Amburgh ; when Diedrich, after 
the confusion of a moment, looked very wise, and, 
whilst a smile broke over his broad face, making it 
shine like a tub of butter in the sun, he softly grunted 
forth, -The cellar!" 

At the words a shriek burst from the assembled 
household. " The cellar ! " And instantly armies of 



TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 243 

rats, every rat as big as any hare, galloped through 
the affrighted imaginations of the servants, for the 
vrovv Van Amburgh fainted dead as stone. " The 
cellar ! " No man, woman, or child stirred a foot : 
every soul seemed petrified with horror ; stood as 
though motion was useless, the child having, of 
course, been shared in little pieces among the rav- 
enous vermin — swallowed in small bits, flesh and 
bones, cap, and bib, and tucker. Rats had been seen 
in that most rat-frequented cellar big as moderate-sized 
dogs : they had, one hard winter, shown considerable 
disposition to attack Van Amburgh himself, taking, 
by the way, a shameful advantage of his having, con- 
trary to his usual custom, entered their domain with- 
out a stick.-. Was it, then, to be thought of, came it 
within the wildest dreams of hope to imagine, the 
dear little innocent Diedrich safe? No; the lovely 
little one was»dead, and though buried, was carried 
about the cellar in mince-meat, entombed in the bow- 
els of the pitiless rats. 

No man stirring towards the cellar, the host him- 
self proposed to descend, when he was followed by 
all the guests and the servants — for the vrow Van 
Amburgh remained insensible — to the death-place of 
fcl dear little Diedrich." The cellar was exactly thirty 
feet six inches (we mean, of course, English measure) 
below the street, and was approached by a narrow, 
winding staircase, which admitted, and that with 
some difficulty on the part of the experimentalist, 
only one Dutchman to ascend and descend at a time ; 
seven servant girls, of irreproachable- character, had 
left the White Hart simply because they were found 



2 4 4 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 

of too luxuriant a figure (Veuuses run large in the 
Netherlands) for the narrow capacity of that cellar 
staircase. 

Mynheer Van Amburgh descended first ; his oppo- 
site neighbor, the cooper, a man of unblemished ve- 
racity, followed, and, as we have already stated, a long 
train of the affrighted and the curious descended one 
by one, and not a word was spoken, not, save now 
and then a sigh, a sound was heard. Hence the par- 
ty, when within some ten feet of the cellar, heard, to 
their astonishment and deep delight, the musical ring- 
ing of little Diedrich's coral bells ; and more., they 
heard his dear, sweet little voice cooing away, and 
laughing, and, in the innocency of its little heart, try- 
ing to hum a tune to the dulcet accompaniment of 
mellow silver. Every man and woman paused, and 
exclaimed a short thanksgiving as the bells still rang. 

" Let's see what the younker's about," said the 
father, and, as cautiously as his condition permitted 
him, entered his spacious cellar, which was speedily 
thronged by his followers. They looked around, and 
though they saw a faint glimmering of a light, — for 
the host had left his lamp in the cellar (fortunately the 
babe was dressed in woollen), — though they heard 
the bells and the voice of the baby, they could not 
immediately discover where the infant was. At 
length the father led the party through a long lane of 
Holland's tubs, and there in a corner, to the wonder 
and admiration of the spectators, they beheld — what? 
Little Diedrich Van Amburgh seated — how the 
child got there was not the least wonder — on the 
head of a gin-tub, shaking his silver-gilt coral, and 



TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 245 

nodding his head, and conceitedly trying to snap his 
little, thick, turnip-radish fingers, and, in a word, by 
intuition, of course, delightfully imitating the graceful 
airs of great composers, who flourish their glittering 
batons de mesure to the gratification of an audience, 
and the perfect unconcern of an orchestra ! There 
he was, shaking his coral bells ; but, reader, we have 
not yet told you to whom : in a word, then, to no less 
than a hundred and fifty rats, — for the cooper counted 
them, — the least of them as big as terriers, dancing 
and caracoling, and, at the voice of the babe, running 
up the gin-tub, and licking his face, and subjectedly, 
as if in token of homage, rubbing their noses against 
his toes. 

It would be a waste of time and paper to attempt 
to describe the astonishment of the beholders ; let the 
reader imagine himself in the cellar of the White 
Hart, at the interesting juncture whereof we write, 
and consider what would have been his measure of 
surprise. The feat of Diedrich made even Dutchmen 
marvel. They were silent in their astonishment ; yea, 
their tongues were like bits of ice in their mouths, 
from sheer wonder. A greater wonder, however, al- 
most immediately thawed them. 

They had gazed in dumb abstraction at the gam- 
bols of the rats, at the subjection of the vermin to the 
voice, looks, and gestures of the infant pacificator ; 
but when, at certain inarticulate words uttered by 
Diedrich, six of the largest rats ran up the tub, and 
two, standing on their hind legs, rested their fore 
paws upon each of his shoulders, when a third rat 
sat, as in the act of begging, on the crown of his 



246 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 

head, two other rats crouched upon his knees, and a 
sixth rat, taking his tail in his month, hung, like a 
necklace, round the throat of their baby dominator, — 
when the Dutchmen beheld this, — no more, in fact, 
than an adumbration of the future group of lions and 
tigers, — when the Hollanders beheld this, they did 
shout ! 

It was extraordinary, however, and certainly the 
strongest evidence of the mysterious influence of 
young Van Amburgh over the hearts and minds of 
the vermin, that, though several gin-tubs jumped from 
their bottoms, — the motion caused by the vibration 
of the Dutchmen's shout, — the rats never moved a 
muscle ! They looked steadfastly in the faces of the 
Dutchmen, and, catching the eye of their nursling 
master, kept their places. 

Fortunately this circumstance is so well attested, 
the triumph of young Van Amburgh over the ferocity 
of the rats is so finally established by events subse- 
quent to the scene in the cellar, that all the malignity 
of envy — and Mr. Van Amburgh, who has u robbed 
the lion of his heart," cannot despoil the serpent of 
its poison — cannot shake it! We have talked to 
people, most respectable persons now dwelling at the 
Hague, who well remember to have seen young Van 
Amburgh, when only four years old, drawn about 
the village by twelve of his father's rats, in light pig- 
skin harness, attached to a small, shell-like vehicle 
unfortunately, only seven years since, burnt in a house 
at Leyden, whither it had been sent for the inspection 
of the curious. 

At four years old, drawn by rats, would young Van 



TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 247 

Amburgh pass through every corner of the Hague, 
nay, proceed as far as Scheveling and back ; and 
though many and many a cat sat in the doorways, 
and licked his lips as he leered at the plump and 
whiskered team of the infant pacificator,, yet no cat 
dared to pounce, for this reason — the eye of Diedrich 
Van Amburgh was upon him. 

To this wonderful organ, be it understood, our hero 
ascribes all his triumphs in the brute creation. Great 
conquests have certainly been made by the same in- 
strument in the higher walks of animal life ; but in 
the inferior parts of the regne animal, Diedrich Van 
Amburgh is a conqueror unrivalled — the Hannibal 
of hyenas, the Cassar of leopards, the Napoleon of 
Bengal tigers. 

We had almost been guilty of an important omis- 
sion in this our veracious history ; we had well nigh 
forgotten to state that the coral of the baby Diedrich 
is now to be seen in the museum at the Hague, if we 
mistake not, in the case to the left of the wooden chair 
in which General Chasse sat at the bombardment in 
the fortress of Antwerp — a relic which the Hollanders 
are very justly proud of. The coral, by the way, has 
been despoiled of one of its bells, it is supposed by a 
curious Englishman on a visit three years since to the 
museum. 

To resume our biographical narrative. 

Our hero is now four years old, and every day 
brings with it further evidence of his surpassing genius ; 
he continues to grow the marvel and delight of the 
good people of the Hague. When at eight years of 
age, an event occurs which doubles even the enthusi- 



248 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 

asm of that most enthusiastic race of people, the 
Dutch ; for the pet of the village, Diedrich, was wont 
to be absent whole days, from morn till night, from 
the paternal roof, usually returning very hungry and 
very wet. Every means were tried to learn the cause 
of his absence, to discover where he passed so many 
of his valuable hours ; but Diedrich maintained a 
dogged silence to all queries, or essayed to laugh 
them aside by some playful quip or quirk. At length, 
having pondered on the matter some time, Mynheer 
Van Amburgh set spies upon the movements of his 
son ; and hence we are enabled to gladden our readers 
with one of the strangest recitals, perhaps, ever yet 
recited. 

" The small village called Scheveling," says an 
" English Gentleman," who, in 1691, wrote upon 
the Hague and its adjacent places, u is inhabited 
chiefly by fishermen, where is a curious, hard, sandy 
shore, admirably contrived by nature for the adver- 
tisement of fersons of quality" This village is ap- 
proached from the Hague by u a late-made way, cut 
through vast, deep mountains of sand, paved through 
with curious stones — a work fit for the ancient Ro- 
mans ; " and to this village, and its " admirably con- 
trived sandy shore," would Diedrich Van Amburgh, 
when eight years old, daily resort ; and thither was 
he watched by the spies set upon his steps. 

Fables have been invented that may be considered 
as somewhat bearing upon our narrative ; but the cir- 
cumstance only proved that the fiction was but the 
shadow to the " coming" truth. For instance, the 
elder Pliny — a gentleman of considerable fancy — 



TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 249 

informs us that a little boy scraped an acquaintance 
with a dolphin, and by bribing the fish with a portion 
of his morning's bread and butter, would induce it to 
carry him on its back to school, from Baia- toPuteoli, 
and from Puteoli to Baiae. The boy, catching the 
measles, died; "when," says Pliny, "the dotphin 
pined and died, and was buried in the same grave 
with his little playmate I" " These be truths ! " The 
younger Pliny, trumping the card of the elder, tells a 
story of a dolphin, " at Hippo in Africa," who, meet- 
ing a boy swimming wide from his companions, dived 
under him, took him on its back, and bundled off with 
its affrighted burden into the " open sea," when, hav- 
ing swum a league or two, the dolphin tacked, made 
for land, and carefully deposited the child upon the 
shore. The story ran through the town, and the next 
day the strand was thronged with people, curious to 
see if die dolphin would come again ; when, about 
half past eleven, lo ! it came, and, playing all sorts 
of inviting tricks, the people walked up to their knees 
into the river, and stroked and patted it, the women 
kissing and calling it pretty names. The boy, who 
had on the former day backed the fish, then put him- 
self again astride it, and, doubtless, amidst enthu- 
siastic exclamations, was carried out into " blue wa- 
ter " by the dolphin, and again faithfully brought back. 
The historian adds that u the deputy governor " of the 
province believed that the affable fish could be noth- 
ing but a god in disguise ; and, therefore, on an early 
visit of the creature to the shore, ordered some pre- 
cious ointment to be poured upon it. From that mo- 
ment the fish lost its spirits, became sick and feeble, 



250 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 

and in a short time was never seen again. The truth 
is — a truth that has escaped the sagacity of the 
younger Pliny — that the dolphin suspected the pre- 
cious ointment to be fish-sauce, and, though grieved 
for the sake of its personal safety to discontinue its 
visits, prudentially concluded that people who had 
such an abundance of fish-sauce might some day be 
in need of fish to eat with it. Such were the dol- 
phin's speculations, and wisely, as we think, it turned 
its head to sea. " Here be truths." To return to 
Diedrich Van Amburgh. 

He is now, gentle reader, in the ninth year of his 
age ; and one bleak, tempestuous morning he is seen, 
as we think somewhat presumptuously, treading the 
" hard, sandy shore," made for " persons of quality," 
at the wild, dreary, yet picturesque, village of Scheve- 
ling. The youngster walks the sands with a sturdy 
foot, and as he walks, looks out, and whistles towards 
the ocean. He has walked and whistled but five 
minutes, when lo ! six porpoises tumble towards 
the shore. Diedrich walks fearlessly towards them, 
jumps upon the back of the biggest, and away goes 
he, hurrahing, laughing, shouting, riding like a cork 
upon the crest of the billows ; twenty Dutchmen, 
among whom are the spies appointed by his father, 
with the fishermen of the village, their wives and 
families, fixed upon the strand, transmuted into stone 
by the daring of that " marvellous boy." The story 
flew through the Hague, and when, after a somewhat 
exhausting ride of four hours, young Diedrich turned 
his porpoise for the shore, he saw it covered with the 
inhabitants of the Hague, with an odd thousand or 



two from Delf and other places, congregated there to 
receive him with due honors on his coming in. He 
came with the porpoises bounding and tumbling about 
him, each porpoise having a bell round its neck, un- 
lawfully taken b)' Diedrich from his father's hostelry 
for his own ocean pets. We pass the scene of his 
welcome by the Dutch public, the delight of Die- 
driclrs father, the tears of his mother. Young Die- 
drich was presented at the Dutch court, and there were 
several cabinet councils held to consider the propriety 
of employing him as courier of the mail-bags by sea 
between Holland and France, when, with a wayward- 
ness, alas ! too frequently a baneful ingredient in 
the composition of genius, young Diedrich destroyed 
the hopes of his family in his advancement by clan- 
destinely eloping with a Dutch skipper, a frequent 
visitor at the White Hart, bound for Batavia, where, 
as the captain assured our hero, he might assuage his 
raging thirst for leopards, tigers, and lions in any 
number. These brilliant prospects were too much 
for the filial duty of young Diedrich ; and in the tenth 
year of his age he quitted the White Hart, and hid 
himself in the obscure port of Amsterdam until the 
skipper should be ready for sea, Diedrich seeing, if he 
remained at home, that he would inevitably be appoint- 
ed to some lucrative place under his own government. 
However, one of those accidents to be found in the 
lives of all truly great men prevented his shipment 
for Batavia, having been shamefully lured aboard a 
South Sea whaler only the night before her departure 
for her three years' voyage, the captain of the ship, 
with a base regard for personal interest only to be 



252 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 

found in the very meanest natures, having concluded 
that the wonderful genius of Diedrich Van Amburgh 
might be of considerable advantage to himself and 
owners in the South Seas. 

The captain was not mistaken. He returned to 
Holland with the spoils of five-and-twenty first-rate 
fish ; but for the honor of our common nature we al- 
most blush to state that, at the dinner given to him by 
his owners at Rotterdam to commemorate his tri- 
umphant success, — his success ! — the skipper by no 
one word had acknowledged the wonderful services 
of Diedrich, to whom, indeed, the prosperity of the 
voyage was wholly and solely to be attributed. Our 
readers may probably be aware that the whale fish- 
ery is a toilsome and most hazardous employment. 
Diedrich Van Amburgh, however, by the force of 
those great gifts awarded him from his birth, made 
what would have been a long, miserable three years' 
voyage nothing more than a long excursion of pleas- 
ure. What Diedrich had been in his infancy to the 
rats, that was he in his boyhood to the spermaceti 
whales. 

Was a whale in request, the captain immediately 
ordered Diedrich, with a telescope of the highest 
power, to the mast-head, where, having spied the 
monster, Diedrich could fascinate him with his eye 
through the glass, and in an instant leviathan would 
" swim a league," tamely present himself alongside 
the ship, and, patient as a lamb, meekly suffer himself 
to be harpooned, young Van Amburgh, be it under- 
stood, whistling " Yankee Doodle " or u Old Ken- 
tuck " — melodies taught him by an American, 



TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 253 

one of the crew — to quiet him during the op- 
eration. 

The captain in a very long speech, fully reported 
in the Abendblatt, spoke of his own trials, the suffer- 
ings of the sailors, but not one word of that miracle 
of a boy, Van Amburgh, who, by the way, stung by 
a sense of injustice, had deserted from the ship on 
the back of a white shark, a young grampus follow- 
ing him on shore with his bundle, when homeward 
bound for Amsterdam. 

Diedrich, still fixed upon the lions, entered himself 
on board a ship bound for Ceylon. Many disap- 
pointments, however, combined to thwart his deter- 
mination to escape into the woods, where, by the 
mere force of character and power of eye, — such 
being the only means employed by Van Amburgh to 
subdue all beasts, — he resolved to beard the lion in 
his den, and, in fact, carry civilization and all its hu- 
manities amongst the feline tribes of the wilderness. 
Enough for us that Diedrich Van Amburgh had car- 
ried into practical perfection the benevolence of his 
early theory ; that he has shown how 

" education forms the brutal mind, 



And as the stick is used, the beasts incline ; " 

and that if there are lions who eat rajahs, tigers that 
have a propensity for child- stealing, and leopards 
nurturing in their savage breasts a preference for liv- 
ing flesh, no matter whether of man or beast ; the 
evil arises solely from the misfortune of their igno- 
rance ; that they know no better, and are to be pitied 
for their darkness. 



254 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 

We have placed Diedrich Van Amburgh at Cey- 
lon. We regret, deeply regret, to state that here there 
is hiatus in manuscriptis ; we lose sight of him for 
some years, until we again meet with him in Eng- 
land, a purchaser of one of our new lions, then a cub, 

— a nursling, — 

"With the most innocent milk in its most innocent mouth." 

On the breaking up of our national establishment 
in the Tower, in defence to a senseless cry of — But 
no ; we started on the broad ground of benevolence, 
and we will not betake ourselves into the smoking 
corner of politics. The lions were sold from the 
Tower, and happy was the cub that fell into the 
hands of Van Amburgh ; he, the beast himself, may 
possibly be ignorant of his great happiness ; but we 

— poor mortals as we are. knowing full well the 
powers of temptation, with the difficulty of overcom- 
ing them — we cannot but admire the acquired tem- 
perance and meekness of that lion, who. with a young 
lamb rubbed against his lips, with its white wool 
tickling his whiskers, turns from it, like a lad} 7 from a 
second glass of wine ! We should like to see the 
stock-broker, with lambs of the 'Change offered to 
him, who would gently put them aside ! It would 
delight us to know the exact style of countenance of 
the small, yet noisy patriot, tempted by a baronetcy, 
or the fleecy hosiery of place, stanch to his " princi- 
ples," and rock to the blandishments of a minister. 
We know what it must have cost the lion to be able 
to turn away from a remarkably healthy child — vac- 
cinated and all — with bloodless lips: and admira- 
tion is the fruit of that knowledge ! 



TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 255 

We have now little more to speak of than the dis- 
cipline employed by Mr. Van Amburgh for the sub- 
jugation and instruction of his brutes ; and it will, 
we are sure, delight our readers to learn that Mr. Van 
Amburgh, quite in opposition to the general belief, 
rules them with the downiest feather. To speak lit- 
erally, the heaviest weapon employed upon them in 
their hours of schooling is a stick of cinnamon ; and 
this, be it understood, he uses upon the hides of his 
pupils, not as a means of physical punishment, but as 
conveying to them a sense of degradation — as he has 
assured us, a far more bitter chastisement upon a lion 
or tiger of any natural goodness than stripes or chas- 
tisement. It is really delicious to witness the inter- 
view of Van Amburgh with the beasts in their time 
of relaxation, when not stirred up to please a vulgar 
audience by an affectation of ferocity ; it is most 
gratifying to witness the interchange of caresses be- 
tween the master and his servants — the mild intelli- 
gence on the one side, the confidence and gratitude on 
the other. 

It will be seen that Mr. Van Amburgh's treatment 
of the brutes is almost wholly intellectual. He rea- 
sons with them, and has at length succeeded in con- 
veying to their minds surprisingly clear ideas of right 
and wrong. He now and then finds it expedient to 
read something dramatic to them, when desirous of 
tranquillizing their rising passions. The manager has 
generally placed at his disposal the MSS. of trage- 
dies, comedies, farces, &c, for the purpose. But 
we have it on the assurance of the great teacher him- 
self, that, if he wishes to wholly subdue the whole 



256 TRUE HISTORY OF A GREAT PACIFICATOR. 

menagerie, he finds nothing so efficacious as the 
libretto of a new opera. 

We are, however, happy to state that this civiliza- 
tion of the brutes of the forest bv the great benevolent 
professor is only the first of a series of improvements 
contemplated by him in the body social. What he 
has done for lions, tigers, and leopards, he professes 
himself ready to do for men of all conflicting opin- 
ions, passions, and interests. We have not the ad- 
dress of the brute-trainer, neither are w T e in possession 
of the terms required by him per lesson ; but if any 
of our readers, male or female, will apply personally 
to him, having made up their minds to conform to 
the self-same harmonizing system worked out with 
such success upon the lower animals, they need not 
for an instant doubt of the same gratifying results. 

It is with this feeling — it is from a consciousness 
of the higher uses of Mr, Van Amburgh's system — 
that we have been induced to give this lengthened 
notice of it, to go thus comprehensively into what 
we trust will prove a rrlost valuable exposition. 

1839. 



MICHAEL LYNX. 257 



MICHAEL LYNX; "THE MAN WHO 
KNEW HIMSELF." 

U C"^IR, will you buy any rhubarb — most excellent 
^3 Turkey rhubarb?" asks the turbaned dealer, 
in his best English, of the thousandth passenger, 
who, with a wily glance at the drug, and a shiver 
from the crown to the sole, hurries past, deigning no 
syllable in reply. It is not that he despises the 
medicinal qualities of rhubarb ; by no means — he 
knows them to be admirable ; but then, ninety-nine 
times out of the hundred, he believes, or tries to 
make himself believe, that he has no need of them. 
To his brothers and sisters, to his wife, his sons and 
his daughters — indeed, to all his relatives, friends, 
and acquaintance, he may be all but convincingly 
eloquent on the " sovereign remedy " of rhubarb ; but, 
for himself, he knows his constitution — he never re- 
quires it. A man who presents a history, containing 
professedly rigid lessons, is a vender of drugs ; a book 
with an avowed moral is — rhubarb. 

Shall we then, at once, avow the tendency of the 
narrative of Michael Lynx — "the man who knew 
himself"? No; we eschew such peril, begging to 
assure our friends that if, in the following pages, 
they find, not a string of moralities, but anything like 
a single moral, it must be to their own searching 
sagacity, and not to our premeditation, that they 
will owe so questionable a discovery. Thus, assur- 
ing a large portion of the reading world that we 

17 



25S - MICHAEL LYNX; 

mean nothing, we think we are justified in the most 
reasonable hopes of fixing its attention. 

Michael Lynx was born — as it is allowed that the 
joyful event took place precisely nine months and 
three days after the marriage of his mother, the 
friends of the lady — and we take our readers to be 
immediately such — are not authorized to call upon 
us for the precise date of the parish register. It is 
sufficient, for eveiy reasonable purpose, that Michael 
was most unequivocally, most undeniably, born. We 
care not to dwell upon the event, it not being with 
Michael, as with crowds of heroes, one of the two 
most remarkable accidents of his existence. How 
many thousands are no more than human candles ! 
They are lighted, and they — burn out. Not so our 
Michael. His " brief candle " first saw the light in a 
garret, fearfully elevated above the classic ground, east 
of that spot where, in the time of Richard the Second, 
grapes, it is said, were persuaded to ripen, but where, 
in the present degenerate times, oxen are at certain 
days congregated, though not to tread, the fruitage 
of the legendary vine. We speak of Smithfield. If 
Michael's taper of life burnt irregularly, something is 
to be allowed for the influence of early accident : the 
window-frames of the room in which he was born 
were most impartially fitted with brown paper. It is 
true great, steady, shining lights have come down 
to us from garrets ; but Michael was not one of these, 
lie was deprived, by the local obscurity of his birth, 
of even the playful boast of Pope Sextus the Ffth, 
who, born in a hovel, which admitted the sun through a 
thousand crannies, vaunted that he was nato di casa 



THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 259 

illustre — u born of an illustrious house." Now, as 
to his house, Michael — and it is saying much — 
might have counted flaw for flaw against any pope 
in Christendom ; but though he had all the defects, 
he could not boast — in the peculiar place, and under 
the circumstances in which he was born — of that 
light which made them illustrious ; for it is sometimes 
better to be the bastard of Apollo, than the lawfully 
begotten of Plutus. 

We have to excuse another defect — a defect im- 
planted in Michael from his earliest years. It cannot 
be disguised that Michael's taper, ere it was one 
third consumed, was often placed in a bottle. Now, 
seeing that all men are but so many candles, it should 
be allowed that the steadiness with which they beam, 
the clearness and the duration of their light, the ab- 
sence of volatile insects which make them waste and 
flicker, the lack of winding-sheets, and other weaken- 
ing superstitions that beset the tallowy torch of flesh, 
depend almost entirely upon the quality and the 
currents of air in which it is doomed to be lighted 
and to burn. If this be a vulgar error, like the 
broken-down gentleman who cried mackerel, we 
earnestly hope that nobody has heard it. 

A candle in a bottle ! We have made it our busi- 
ness through life to narrowly mark a candle when 
so placed ; and we fearlessly assert, defying contra- 
diction, that no candle, thus situated, ever burnt 
fairly and truly, with credit to itself, and full honest 
duty to its master. Mark, ye philosophers ! behold, 
ye chemists ! how the gross stream winds itself 
around the vitreous neck of the destroyer, meandering 



26o MICHAEL, LYNX ; 

down in twenty ducts into one dull, noisome pond 
of fat ! Is there a breathing man who hath not seen 
this? If there be, let him seek to know the great 
moral lesson ; and when he sees — as surely he will 
see — the substance of the taper running into dark- 
ness, the bright wick grown dull and black, with 
sooty lumps, thick as blotches on a drunkard's nose, 
— loading and deforming it, — then let him take heed, 
and never hope to burn his candle in a bottle. 

Michael passed the first seven years of his life in 
healthful dirtiness, flourishing in filth. He was a 
well-planted root, and shot up firmly from the soil. 
As for the prejudice against what is vulgarly called 
dirt, like every other prejudice, its nursing mother 
is ignorance. It is only necessary to observe any of 
the tens of thousands of little imps waddling, creep- 
ing, running, screaming, hilloing, bellowing, beyond 
the confines of clean respectability, to feel assured of 
the sovereign excellence of dirt. There they are, a 
part and parcel of the mud-pies they knead and 
chaffer with. Our heart leaps up when we behold 
u a brood of unclean children," — little new-made 
Adams, — so dirty, there seems but part of their clay 
dried into flesh. Pride may read a fine lesson of hu- 
mility in such faces ; yea, there is a deep primitive 
truth in their very earthliness. Let pampered vir- 
tuosos feed their sickly sensibilities with paintings 
and carvings ; let them be rapt with Raphael's form, 
with Titian's color ; let their mouth's water at the 
small prettiness of a Cellini ; let them treasure their 
blooming canvas, their images in marble and ivory, 
in bronze and gold ; let them treble-lock their muse- 



THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 261 

urns and their cabinets ; but leave to us the true, 
the inimitable terra cotta, of rare human flesh. Thus 
every alley is our gallery — every cul-de-sac our am- 
ple studio ! We could, we feel it, write upon the 
subject until dirt changed under our pen as at the 
touch of Midas's finger. We could read a great moral 
truth in a begrimed cheek; we could — and how 
many pious fathers might we evoke from their dusty 
cells to bear testimony — prove the deep sagacity of 
many by-gone saints in their contempt of water. 
How many of those excellent men — of those noble 
pillars of their faith — have come down to posterity 
with anything but clean hands? in how many thou- 
sand instances (see the lives of anchorites, popes, 
ancient sulphur-breathers, and modern rantipoles) has 
the odor of sanctity been any other than the absence of 
linen ? We have read a list of thousands of relics, all 
duly authenticated, and have not met with one shirt 
in the whole catalogue. Thus far to combat a morbid 
sensibility of what are absurdly called the decencies 
of life; henceforth let our readers — which are only 
three other words for all the world — look with an 
instructed eye upon external uncleanness ; let them 
not turn away from the unseemliness of the mere cov- 
ering, but hug it closer to their hearts for its foulness. 
Gods ! had we time and space to write an encyclo- 
pedic chapter on dirt, what saints, what heroes, what 
politicians, what poets, could we pick out of the mud ! 
To our story. 

And Michael grew in a congenial soil. We regret 
that, up to his seventh year, no particular event an- 
nounced the dawning of that light which in after days 



262 MICHAEL LYNX*, 

brightened and dazzled his circle. Passing over two 
brief captivities in the Compter, with one private 
whipping, as matters unworthy of the historian and 
of Michael, let us set out with him in the wide world. 
Stay : to disarm scandal, we may as well explain 
that Michael's first imperfect knowledge of criminal 
law arose from his love of apples — a love, as it ap- 
pears, so deeply implanted in our common nature; 
so involved in its profane accidents! An apple — 
but the story is trite as pippins — taught Sir Isaac 
Newton true gravity ; an apple taught Gregory the 
Seventh a lesson for popes ; an apple saved Clym of 
the Clough from the gallows ; an apple might have 
educated Michael Lynx for that final destination. We 
have now no time to discuss it, but trust the reader is 
fully impressed with the importance of the subject. 
Much may yet be said of the apple ! 

Beholding Michael at ten years old, we cannot but 
believe that Nature and Destiny, like inexorable old 
women as they are, wrangled at his cradle. Nature 
endowed the child with her rarest gifts, but the bel- 
dam Fate long denied their profitable exercise. It is 
thus the opposing powers sit, brooding over the world, 
pleased at nothing so much as at thwarting each 
other. It is thus Nature makes her beautiful, her best 
creatures, and then Destiny snatches away the glorious 
handiwork, and locks it forever in a corner cupboard. 
Again, Nature produces some poor misshapen thing, 
— some half made image, loathsome without, and 
dark within, — when her sister hag, with a grim 
laugh, pounces on the abortion, hugs it, dandles it, 
and ringing its nose with gold, hanging priceless 



THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 263 

jewels at its ears, high uplifts the gilded ugliness. 
Think of it, ye who, from the nursery to the family 
vault, walk upon lamb's-wool — think how many 
noble slaves hath the witch Destiny u acting her ab- 
horred behests," daily sweating " in the eye of the 
sun," pining in the darkness of the night. How 
many are bowed by her invisible chain ; how T many 
prisoners in the c:ty ; how many serfs in the field ! 
She has her captives ; and yea, with a false and foul 
religion, she has her idols for her slaves to worship — 
her consecrated crocodiles — her solemn monkeys. 

Nature had given to Michael the easy means of a 
carriage and liveries, but Destiny would not readily 
encourage the coachmaker and tailor. The bountiful 
goddess had made our hero musical and imitative ; 
but Destiny, who for a time made the god of music 
himself a shepherd, marked Michael for someting less, 
and Smithfield for his Arcady. Now, had Michael 
been born within the purlieus of Drury Lane, had 
he been even pot-boy to a theatrical public house, 
how different had been his fate — how primrose- 
decked his path to fortune ! Of what availed his 
powers of song, his gifts of mimicry? It is true he 
was the idol of the critics at the Three Jugs ; but, 
like their numerous brotherhood, though they could 
let fall showers of praise, they could not give the 
smallest piece of pudding. (By the way, why does 
not some lecturer on pneumatics define the precise 
time that a man may live upon mere, praise? We 
should like to see a popular poet in a moral air-pump.) 
Michael would imitate every domestic beast of the> 
field, and was judged — a rare and happy accident 



264 MICHAEL LYNX ; 

to the performer — by persons who really knew some- 
thing of the subject. Had he to mimic a goat, a hog, 
a calf, an ass — there were among the auditors the 
most competent judges of the performance. Happy 
Michael ! how many a playwright has yearned for 
such critics, and only sometimes found them ! Here 
were gifts, had the professor been the favorite of 
Destiny. To hear Michael, was to fancy Noah's 
ark sounding in his larynx : indeed, " he was no 
vulgar boy ! " and had Fate only thrust him into a 
play-house, with such convertible talents, in a very 
few years he might have had a bank account, and 
green and gold liveries. Had he only lived in these 
days, when, like a Turkish pacha, the dramatic muses 
have horse-tails for banners, Michael had surely 
emerged even from the obscurity of the Three Jugs; 
but in the dark times when Michael roared, and 
growled, and brayed, and neighed, jackasses were 
of no stage value : Mr. Garrick had no taste ; besides, 
unlike all his brethren, he had a touch of envy. 

From ten to seventeen did Michael tend - sheep as a 
profession, and imitate them as an enjoyment. A 
marked change then ensued : he had hitherto been a 
sloven, he now became a fop ; he cast aside a thatch 
of worsted, which, for at least twenty years, under 
various owners, had usurped the name of cap, and as- 
sumed a straw hat of more than brimstone brightness ; 
there was, moreover, a cunning knowledge of life in 
the tie of the black ribbon that girdled it — a true 
knowledge of the magic worth of appearance — of, as 
in later life he would say, the use of the exterior. He 
had a deep-blue frock, one pair of leathern breeches, 



THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 265 

and shoe-buckles, if not all silver, at least copper, very 
preciously and thickly cased. Thus habited, a switch 
in his hand, and a sprig of lavender in his mouth, 
— so fitting, looked as though it grew there, — Michael 
would drive his flock. Virgil's shepherds (they had 
their faults), in all their gloiy, were but cow-boys to 
Michael. If he did not play upon a pipe, he smoked 
one with an air very far beyond the pastoral ; if he 
did not milk sheep, no hand could more adroitly kill 
them ; if he were not called upon to guard his ewes 
from wolves, no youth, especially twice a day, had a 
more craving regard for mutton. Another change, be- 
sides the vulgar mutation of dress, came upon Michael ; 
or, it may be, it came with the dress — the shirt of 
Nessus had its poison, and shirts and new coats, on 
skins unused to such delicacies, have sometimes a 
subtle and mysterious influence — " there is magic in 
the web." How the refinement came, we pause not 
to inquire ; but certain it is, from the day that Michael 
first appeared in his reformed costume, he gave up 
his brutal imitations, at least of the lowest of what the 
humility of man calls lower animals. He would still 
mimic a few of the nobler creatures ; but it was only 
when he was in very excellent cue indeed, and at the 
pressing request of friends, — a request very often put, 
and consented to, — that he would condescend to 
make an ass of himself. The goose he solemnly for- 
swore at seventeen : how many of our wisest sages 
have come far short of Michael ! 

This determination of our hero was, however, for a 
time fatal to Michael's worldly prospects. When he 
ceased to be a vulgar beast, he ceased — and the like 



266 MICHAEL LYNX ; 

may have happened to the most convivial souls— -to 
be attractive to his circle of former admirers. But 
the truth must out — ambition was at the bottom of 
this false delicacy. He had, in an evil hour for his 
reputation, visited a meaiagerie at the festival of St. 
Bartholomew. From that moment he was haunted 
by the roaring of the forest kings ; from that moment 
he despised his former accomplishments, holding 
them as worse than nought, and henceforth deter- 
mined to do nothing but the lion. It was in vain that 
friends dissuaded, critics sneered, and foes rejoiced ; 
it was in vain that he was called upon for a growl or 
a bark, in both of which he was pre-eminent ; he 
would do nothing but roar, and his rearing was con- 
temptible. Foolish Michael ! thou mightest have 
continued to the end an applauded, prosperous puppy 
— but to try the lion, was to fall indeed ! And yet, in 
the homely history of Michael, read we not the fate 
of thousands? There are greater houses than the 
Three Jugs in which the same mistake is daily, 
nightly made. There are persons of greater likelihood 
than Michael who will attempt a roar, when the very 
extent of their ability is a tolerable yelp. We might 
multiply parallel examples, but leave them to the 
reader, — who, or he must lack acquaintance, can 
number them by the gross. 

Fortune, however, did not wholly desert Michael ; 
for at the time of his waning popularity at the Three 
Jugs he had fallen captive to the sloe eyes and 
damask cheeks of a maiden, a dweller on the Barnet 
Road. Divine, enduring, charitable woman ! Though 
Michael was a mongrel to all mankind, to Susan he 



THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 267 

was a veritable lion ! It is thus, though the poor 
dolt be jeered and scorned abroad, the love of woman 
crowns him monarch at her side ; it is thus, though 
the silly goose be plucked bare in the world, that new 
" wings at his shoulders seem to play " when looked 
on by her eyes ! Michael wooed with the regularity 
of a stop-w T atch ; for, ever at appointed time he 
breathed the gentle signal, which, with correspond- 
ing punctuality, brought the maiden to his arms. 

At the period of the fulness of his passion many 
sheep had been stolen. One theft was marked by 
peculiar daring, and the evil growing daily worse, 
called for vigorous punishment. A hundred guineas 
was the promised reward for the apprehension of the 
robbers. All Smithfield was in consternation : since 
the expedition for the Golden Fleece there was never 
such a stir — " a hundred guineas reward ! " 

We spoke of the concerted signal between Michael 
and Susan. It was a dark, wintry night, and the 
pastor Michael approached the habitation of his 
adored, a cottage constructed with a fine taste for the 
picturesque, and an equally fine contempt for the ele- 
ments. Michael trode with stealthy footsteps of a 
hero of romance, or a smuggler ; indeed, a custom- 
house officer would have paused, doubting whether 
the intruder came with a contraband passion or with 
illicit brandy. Michael, " holding his breath for a 
time " (at certain seasons the house of the beloved 
strikes solemnly upon the heart), crept as closely 
to the hut as prudence counselled (for Susan shared 
the common calamity of heroines, she had a father), 
and then, with his soul at his lips, uttered the well- 



268 MICHAEL LYNX ; 

known sound. But how to describe it! Michael, in 
the single honesty of his nature, spoke, as he thought, 
with the mouth of a mere sheep ; but what bleating ! 
how modulated — how softened — with what passion 
trembling in its tones — with what a tale of hopes 
and fears in its few vibrations ! A man of ordinary 
sensibility hearing it would have forsworn mutton 
for the rest of his days. There was such pathos in the 
sound — such eloquence of the heart! This, sympa- 
thizing reader, is, you feel, no raphsody ; you, who 
have heard love refine the roughest notes — you, who 
have known him tune harshness itself to music, will 
do the same reverence to the bleating of Michael. Am- 
ple justice you cannot award, for you did not hear it. 
Susan tripped from the cottage ; she joined her lover 
— she spoke — yes, in soft, low accents, twitching 
Michael by the arm, she exclaimed, " Hush ! you 
fool — I'm here ! " Michael answered not ; he stood, 
as on the sudden, struck to stone : perhaps he felt the 
abrupt truth of Susan — perhaps he felt the cold; 
we cannot answer ; but, certain we are, that the sig- 
nal of love had found an echo in the throats of a near 
flock, for bleatings came through the darkness, not 
unaccompanied by human oaths. Michael, without 
a word, followed the sound ; and the roused father 
of Susan, hearing the lover's footsteps, followed him. 
Michael approached the prison of the flock, an old 
dilapidated barn ; a light glimmering through the 
crannies, he beheld — for he knew the ruddle, knew 
the faces of the innocent victims — the stolen sheep ! 
Had he doubted the identity of the beasts, the peculiar 
cast of features of two men, — one employed skinning 



THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 269 

a fat wedder, and another about to prepare a second 
for the like operation — would not have convinced 
him of his error. As he stood, in that brief moment, 
he felt, in imagination, the weight of a hundred guin- 
eas suddenly fall into his pocket: another second, 
and, without any trick of fancy, he felt a huge hedge- 
stake fall upon his back. His first cry was " Thieves ! " 
his second, " Murder ! " 

We cannot here suppress a few words on what we 
may call the nationality of the principal of these ex- 
clamations. We hold it to be a signal evidence of 
the immense wealth of our country, a flattering proof 
of our commercial greatness, and of the universality 
of property, that when man, woman, or child is as- 
saulted, — though neither shall be the loser of so 
much as a hair, — the cry of the assailed is " Thieves ! " 
A man receives a cowardly insult ; the poltroon runs 
away; what suddenly trips up his heels — what, but 
u Stop thief? " The cry, knocking at every man's 
breeches pocket, makes him champion the distressed. 
There is a freemasonry in the words, and when hal- 
looed, all men proffer helping hands. Of the two 
exclamations, "thieves" is strikingly national; — - 
"murder" is enjoyed by other countries. Certainly 
there is no comparison in their relative effect. Some 
fifty years ago, at a crowded drawing-room, two 
countesses — beautiful as angels — were beset on 
their way to their carriages. One lost a necklace, 
the other a bracelet ; one cried " thieves ! " the other 
" murder ! " The thief, with the stolen property upon 
him, was instantly taken ; the murderer, pocketing the 
bracelet, was suffered to walk away. When we heard 



270 MICHAEL LYNX*, 

this we vowed, were we a countess, never in any sit- 
uation to trust to l< murder." No ; let every woman 
in the hour of danger — that is, if she wish for in- 
truding succor — scorn " murder," and place her reli- 
ance upon " thieves ! " 

The fine tenor shouting of Michael, accompanied 
by the sharp, treble screaming of Susan, whilst her 
father, at every blow he dealt, groaned a deep bass 
through his teeth, scared the varlets in the barn, one 
of whom, making a rush for the door, received from 
the paternal cudgel a misdirected thwack, which -lev- 
elled him. However, he was again upon his legs, 
when Michael fastened upon him, and the lover and 
the thief, grappling each other, they both fell to the 
earth. There they lay, writhing and rolling, he of 
the hedge-stake raining an impartial shower of blows, 
now upon his future son, and now upon the sheep- 
stealer, as each came uppermost. The combatants 
blasphemed ; Susan got new strength with scream- 
ing : the father growled as he labored ; the rescued 
sheep set up bleatings of thanksgiving ; when, in the 
midst of the hurly, half a dozen tapers, like so many 
wills-'o-the-wisp, broke through the darkness, and the 
voice of the parish constable, with the voices of two 
men unknown, were heard in the distance. From 
that moment the thief, with oriental resignation, lay 
motionless ; Michael sat gasping upon him ; the 
father, with one hand, leaned upon his staff, and with 
the other wiped the sweat from his forehead ; Susan 
smoothed her hair, and dried the corners of her eyes. 
In this condition they waited the approach of the par- 
ish functionary, who, acknowledging the greeting of 



THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 27 1 

Susan's father, stopped, with his light to the ground, 
when Susan uttered a scream, sharp enough to pierce 
to the horn lantern which disclosed the horror ; for 
the blood ran in streams down Michael's face, drip- 
ping upon the face of the thief below him, and for 
the time almost blotting out his identity. But Tips, 
the constable, was a stern thinker, paying little re- 
spect to blood ; so, somewhat wiping from the fea- 
tures of the thief the property of Michael, there came 
to light the well-known visage of Jack Robinson, bet- 
ter known by the genial alias of Flowers-in-May. 
" He's my prisoner, and there's the stolen sheep ! " 
cried Michael. " And a good night's work thou'st 
made of it," rejoined one of the men ; " a hundred 
guineas, and only for a cracked crown." Question- 
less a hundred guineas are u worth a poor man's 
keeping : " but whether, in the present instance, the 
exchange was in the youth's favor, whether Michael's 
pia mater had been mortally injured by Susan's puis 
paier, remained a case for the surgeons and the as- 
sizes. Happily Michael's skull was no egg-shell, and 
though, almost immediately on the arrival of Tips, 
he swooned, and, at least to Susan's father, looked 
dangerously interesting, time and a plaster made all 
whole again. Perhaps, too, there was some potent 
anodyne in the sympathy of the paternal clubman, 
for no sooner did he hear of the reward than all his 
prejudices melted away, and nought remained in his 
breast but admiration for his valorous son-in-law. 
Besides, as both father and Michael, with an exem- 
plary delicacy, breathed no syllable of family quar- 
rels, the broken skull and bruised, party-colored car- 



272 MICHAEL LYNX ; 

cass of our hero were put clown to the black account 
of the sheep stealers, on whom we shall expend but 
a few words. The luckless Flowers-in-May — his 
companion never came near him in his last trial — 
was judged and sentenced. Michael received the 
hundred guineas, and Tips a most handsome compli- 
ment from the bench, together with an extra parochial 
reward for his cat-like vigilance on the night of the 
scuffle. Tips had been to call a midwife ; but, with 
praiseworthy fortitude, he forbore to intrude upon 
either judge or vestry a single w T ord about his domes- 
tic misfortunes. 

Michael and Susan were married ! The hundred 
guineas, which had produced a halter for Flowers-in- 
May, had bought bridal garlands for the youthful 
couple : hemp-seed and nuptial flowers sprang from 
the same bed ! That a hymeneal wreath should be 
only a continuation of the yarn of the ropemaker ! 
Shudder not, ye gentle youths ; shrink not, ye timid 
virgins. When Susan pressed with her loving arm 
the neck of Michael, there arose no compunctious 
workings to his throat; when Michael put on his 
night-cap, it brought no thought of Flowers-in-May 
to Susan. No ; the hangman wove no dreams for 
them ; they slept peacefully, as though the only gal- 
lows were in Utopia. Was not this insensibility? 
Certainly not : for, much to the disappointment of an 
overflowing Old Bailey, Flowers-in-May was not 
hanged. The night before his intended appearance 
he had broken prison, and one of his legs; certainly 
no very cheap escape ; still, as most men have two 
legs, and none have more than one neck, when dis- 



THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 273 

location is inevitable, it is well that the greatest evil 
be shared by the greatest number. Michael at the 
same time reaped the reward of — (a rare union) — 
mimicry and modesty. Jove lowed his love as a bull ; 
Michael bleated, an innocent sheep ; mark the fruits 
of his humility : had he visited Susan as a lion, 
would there have been any response from the stolen 
flock? Would they have acknowledged by a single 
note, by the slightest tremor, their fears of the de- 
stroyer? As a lion, Michael might have roared and 
starved ; love tamed him down to a sheep, and for- 
tune flung about him a fine, thick fleece. That many 
men would think of Michael ! 

Having married our hero, we shall, for some twen- 
ty years, leave him to himself and his wife. Twenty 
years ! If the reader startle at the change we are 
about to show him, if he smile incredulously at the 
shifting of the scene, and vow we pen a fairy tale, 
and not a true and sober history, we — 

Here, librarian, hand this sceptic a few volumes of 
the Moniteur. There, sir, turn over, not the leaves 
of twenty years, but of ten, of five, or two. A fairy 
tale! Why, all the dreams of Eastern visionaries 
are weak, colorless fantasies to the stern doings of 
this tangible world. Should palaces, built in a night, 
call up our wonder, when, in a few years, we have 
seen the temples of living kings so oppositely ten- 
anted? The stage harlequin is now a poor imbecile 
— outtripped, outdone by the real antic : all others 
are base impostors, things whose wickerwork peeps 
through the covering ; Fortune alone is the true 
mountebank ! See — now she borrows a regal 
18 



274 * MICHAEL LYNX ; 

crown, as a Jackpudding, with a smirk, begs of his 
audience a wedding ring : mark how she whirls it, 
and twists it, and now hiding it in some base corner, 
now lending it for a holiday ornament, and now 
plucking it away again — and now, with a harlot's 
smile, and a profound courtesy, returning it to its de- 
spairing owner. And now she sits upon a palace 
step, with balls and sceptres in her lap, casting them 
now high and now low, like an Indian juggler. And 
now she takes some forlorn nestling, and- — fii'estol 
— he is j>ullus Jovis ! And now, after the thing has 
strutted, and screamed, and called on nations to rev- 
erence its plumes, — with no more ceremony than a 
farmer's wife seizes one gosling from its brethren, — 
does Fortune catch the radiant bird — dishonorable 
catch ! She gripes him by his glorious tail — and 
plucks the peacock of his every plume. 

Mr. and Mrs. Lynx, at the close of twenty years, 
were resolved on retreating with their honorable spoil. 
The hundred guineas had rolled and gathered, giving 
the lie to vulgar superstition, which, with the malice 
of envy, had predicted ill luck to the sudden gain. 
How many sleek, oily souls — when they count their 
hoards, no matter how acquired — must chuckle at 
the bugbear ! Michael had, however, flourished upon 
average honesty ; he never vulgarly picked a pocket, 
and certain we are, he never so much as dreamed of 
forgery. He had grown rich, and as his purse 
swelled, his tastes enlarged. Retired from the 
drudgery of making money, his only thought was 
how to extract dignified happiness from the four per 
cents. Michael was fixed in a suburban villa, com- 



THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 275 

manding a most extensive view of metropolitan va- 
por ; his house was as fine, as light, and almost as di- 
aphanous as a Chinese lantern ; for Michael was none 
of your churls who build about their domesticities 
with walls and hedges : not he. The curious travel- 
ler might have counted every mouthful swallowed by 
Michael at breakfast and dinner ; for, if he were not 
quite as unconscious, he was as careless of publicity 
as a honey-bee in a glass hive. And this, after all, is 
true retirement. Solitude is not a thing of trees and 
bricks, but a part of the immortal man. Michael's 
retreat was all that he could wish ; his garden was 
very promising; his orchard, in a little more than a 
quarter of a century, would u in summer yield him 
shade, in winter fire ; " whilst his lawn looked not 
common grass, but closely, and almost as regularly 
shaven, as its master, seemed like an unwrinkled sheet 
of green baize. He wanted nothing ; for a red and 
blue macaw broke a stillness that might have been 
oppressive ; and for employment, Michael for the first 
three months superintended the education of a per- 
verse kitten, whose ravenous love for a dozen gold- 
fish, in at least a two-quart globe, as they glanced in 
the sun — Michael would sometimes think of his 
guineas — he, after commendable perseverance, sub- 
dued into the coldness of mere respect. And is this 
the Michael of Smithfield? Remember, reader, 
twenty } T ears ! It is not half the time that yonder 
elephant, cribbed in a den of cunning joiner's work, 
was the rough denizen of the forest ; and now mark 
the tame grace with which he takes a sweetmeat 
from that fair, white hand ! Moralists exclaim that 



276 MICHAEL LYNX; 

all men are forgetful of nothing so much as of their 
end. This is a mistake : when they rise, they are 
more oblivious of their beginning. When Michael 
stood at his garden porch, holding 'twixt his lips a 
sprig of jasmine, plucked from his own tree, grow- 
ing: upon his own freehold, he would have been a 
cunning metaphysician w T ho could have persuaded 
him that he was the very Michael of twenty years 
ago ; at most, he might have had some vague impres- 
sion, some interrupted glimmering of the fact, but 
nothing that he could have conscientiously sworn by. 
It would be a profitable sorcery that could evoke the 
spectres of our buried years, making them pass, one 
by one, before our eyes, each shadow following the 
meanness, the folly of its day ! What a picture-gal- 
lery to u sear our eyeballs ! " And yet what heart- 
burning, what contention with the exhibitor ! For 
how" few would own the shadow of ten, or five 
years back, to be their true likeness — their vera 
effigies ? 

Michael was completely happy. He had an en- 
during wife, a fine house, fine grounds, a well-stocked 
cellar, and, he thanked Heaven, — people generally 
do when prayers and the physicians have failed, — 
no children ! If his mansion were not very durable, 
it could boast the brightest paint. If it were not 
built upon rock, the surrounding gravel walks shone 
like red gold. His house might have been more 
commodious, but not so handsome. And thus Mi- 
chael lived, or, rather, stagnated, into old age, im- 
bedded, like a jewel in cotton, in all the comforts of 
this our eating, drinking, and sleeping existence. 



THE MAN WHO KNEW HIMSELF. 2/7 

And to what did Michael owe this full prosperity? 
To the hundred guineas? Yes, for they brought 
with them more than gold ; they brought self-knowl- 
edge. From the day that Michael touched the shi- 
ning reward he became an altered man. It w r as then 
he u knew himself; " it was then, reviewing the folly 
of his past ambition, and contrasting its effects with 
late results, he started in the world with a proper 
consciousness of his powers, and a resolve never to 
attempt beyond them. This was the secret of his 
success ; it was this that clothed the tatterdemalion ; 
that housed him ; that gave him " land and beeves." 
He might, had he persisted in his vanity, have 
mummed away a wdiole life a mountebank and vag- 
abond ; but tire forcible illustration of his true pow- 
ers fixed his eyes upon himself; he looked inwardly, 
and seeing there no lion, at the last hour " knew 
himself." 

We might close this, our rambling story, with a 
budget of moral reflections : we shall levy no such 
tax upon our readers. In every walk of life, from 
St. Stephen's to St. Giles's, how many Michaels be- 
come ridiculous, misanthropic, miserable, unprinci- 
pled as lions, who might have been useful, kindly, 
happy, honest, as mere sheep ! 

1835- 



278 RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 

" When a man has once been very famous for jests and merry adventures, he is 
made to adopt all the jests that want a father, and many times such as are unwor- 
thy of him." — Motteux's Life 0/ Rabelais. 

AT midnight, on the fifth of November, in the 
year of grace one thousand six hundred and 
five, Guido Fawkes, " gentleman," was discovered, 
" booted and spurred," in the vicinity of St. Stephen's 
Chapel, having on his person " three matches, a 
tinder-box, and a dark lantern ; " and purposing, 
by means of gunpowder, to blow up, says King 
James, " the whole nobility, the most part of the 
knights and gentry," besides " the whole judges of 
the land, with most of the lawyers, and the whole 
clerks." For this one indiscretion Guido Fawkes 
has forfeited his gentility, and become a proverb of 
wickedness. In boyhood, we looked upon Guido 
Fawkes, gentleman, as one a little lower than the 
devil : he had four horns and a dozen tails. " Years 
that bring the philosophic mind" have divested him 
of these excrescences and appendages, and Guido 
Fawkes now appears to matured charities merely a 
person of a singularly eccentric disposition. 

Some five-and-twenty years ago it was the patri- 
otic custom of the authorities of an Isle of Sheppy 
dockyard to bestow upon their apprentices a few 
wagon loads of resinous timber, that a bonfire worthv 
of the cause it celebrated might he kindled from the 
public purse — that the effigy of the arch-fiend Guy 



RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 279 

might be consumed in a fire three times hotter than 
the fire of a furnace. Such fierce liberality was not 
lost upon the town's people : their ardor in the burning 
business smouldered not ; every man subscribed his 
plank or log; and, from the commission in his uni- 
form to Bobby in his pinafore, the fifth of November 
glowed in the calendar of their minds a pillar of 
fire. For a month before the day, the coming anni- 
versary busied the thoughts of boyish executioners, 
resolved to show their patriotism in the appointments 
of their Guy — in the grotesque iniquity of his face, 
in the cumbrous state of his huge arm-chair. To 
beg clothes from door to door was then the business 
of every lover of church and state. To ask for a 
coat, a pair of breeches, a shirt (the frill could be 
made of paper), hose and hat, was not mendicity, 
but the fulfilment of a high social duty. 

Guy Fawkes would at length be dressed. A phi- 
losopher might have found good matter in his elee- 
mosynary suit. In the coat of the bloodthirsty 
wretch, he might have recognized the habit of Scum, 
the slopseller, a quiet trader, afloat of twenty thou- 
sand pounds ; in the vest of the villanous ruffian, 
the discarded waistcoat of Smallgrog, the honest 
landlord of a little house for sailors ; in the stock- 
ings of the atrocious miscreant, the hose of the 
equitable Weevil, biscuit-contractor to his Majesty's 
fleet ; whilst for the leather of the fiend-like effigy, 
Guy Fawkes was to be exhibited, and afterwards 
burned, in the broad-toed shoes of that best of men, 
Trap, the town attorney. 

The chair, too, in which Guy Fawkes sat, might 



280 RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 

it not have some day enshrined a justice of the peace? 
and the lantern, fixed in the hand of the diaboli- 
cal, lynx-eyed monster, might it not have been the 
property of the most amiable and most somnolent of 
all the Blue Town watchman? And then the mask 
fixed upon the effigy — or the lump of clay kneaded 
into human features, and horribly or delicately ex- 
pressed, according to the benevolent art of the ma- 
kers, — might not the same visor have been worn by 
a perfect gentleman, with considerable advantage, at 
a masquerade? — might not the clay nose and mouth 
of the loathsome traitor have borne an accidental 
likeness to the very pink of patriots? Let philoso- 
phy ponder well on' Guy Fawkes. 

We will now attempt our childish recollections of 
the great Guy. We have waked at midnight, per- 
haps, dreaming of the bonfire about to blaze, and 
thinking we heard the distant chorus sounding the 
advent of the Mighty Terror. No, it was the sea 
booming across the marsh — the wind rising and 
falling. There was nothing for it but to go to sleep, 
and dream of unextinguishable squibs and crackers. 
At length four o'clock arrives *, the cocks crow ; the 
boys can't be long now. There — hark! How the 
chant comes up the street, like one voice — the voice 
of a solitary, droning witch ! We lie breathless, 
and shape to ourselves Guy Fawkes in the dark ! 
Our hearts beat quicker and quicker as the chant 
becomes louder ; and we sit up in the bed, as the 
boys approach the door, and, O, how we wish to be 
with them ! There — there they are, in full chorus! 
Hark ! — 



RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 28 1 

"The fifth of November, as I can remember, 
Is gunpowder treason and plot — 
I know no reason, why gunpowder treason, 
Should ever be forgot ! " 

We feel an unutterable pang, for loudest among 
the loud we hear the shrill voice of Jack Tarleton. 
"Ha!" we sigh, "///.smother lets him out." The 
bitterness passes away with the 

"Hallo, boys ! hallo, boys ! make a round ring — 
Hallo, boys ! hallo, boys ! God save the King I " 

And now the procession moves on, and the voices 
die in the distance, and we feel we are left alone ; 
and, in a few minutes, we hear new revellers, rejoi- 
cing in the captivity of a suit of clothes stuffed with 
hay, and called Guy Fawkes ! They pass on, and are 
followed by others, and our little brains are set at 
work, and seem seething in the song. Guy Fawkes ! 
Guy Fawkes! Who — what is Guy Fawkes? We 
had been told that he had been caught with lantern, 
tinder-box, and matches, ready to blow up thousands 
of barrels of gunpowder, and so to destroy the king, 
bishops, and members of Parliament. It must be 
shocking — very shocking : still, we could not per- 
fectly envisage the atrocity — we could not make out 
the full horror. We had an undefined sense of the 
greatness of a king, though we hardly dared to hope 
we should ever see one. We had a less remote no- 
tion of the nature of a bishop, having been helped 
somewhat in our speculation by the person of the 
curate at the garrison church. " Curates may come 
to be bishops, only bishops are very much greater ; 
and curates have nothing upon their heads, where- 



282 RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 

as certain bishops might wear mitres." On learning 
this, we thought that bishops were merely full-grown 
curates ; in the same way that we had seen Poland 
hens with their top-knots of feathers, only the spring 
before bare-headed little chicks. It was thus, in the 
irreverence of childhood, we disposed of the whole 
bench of bishops. But now came we to the difficul- 
ty — what, what could be a member of Parliament? 
Was it a living thing? If so, had it a voice? Could 
it speak? Could it sit? Could it say yes and no? 
Could it walk? Could it turn? Or was it merely 
an image? Was it pulled by wires, like sister Jenny's 
doll? We had been told that members of Parlia- 
ment made laws. What were laws? Were they the 
lions and unicorns on the king's arms? Were they 
a better sort of cakes, too dear for everybody to buy? 
Little boys ate Parliament cakes — were laws cakes 
for men? If so, were they gilt or plain? — with 
comfits or without? 

It is no matter, we thought, being unable to sat- 
isfy ourselves: it is no matter. Guy Fawkes — that 
shadowy, terrible mystery — had once lived, and had 
tried to kill the king, the full-grown curates, and 
those undivined riddles — members of Parliament. 
We again went to our first question. Who was Guy 
Fawkes? Did he have a father and mother? Was 
Guy Fawkes ever a little boy, and did he fly a kite 
and play at marbles? If so, how could he have ever 
thought it worth his while to trouble himself with 
other matters? There was something terrifying in 
the idea of having played with Guy Fawkes. We 
fancied him at taw — we saw him knuckle-down. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 2S3 

No — it could not be ; the imagination of the child 
could not dwell upon such an impossibilty. Guy 
Fawkes a boy ! — a baby ! — now shaking a rattle — 
now murmuring as he fed, his mother smiling down 
upon him ! No, no — it was impossible. Guy 
Fawkes was never born — he was from the first a 
man — he never could have been a baby. He seemed 
to us a part of the things that had always been, and 
always would be — a piece of grim eternity ; a princi- 
ple of everlasting wickedness. 

(Is it in childhood alone — is it only in the dim 
imaginings of infancy — in the wandering guesses of 
babyhood, that we manifest this ignorance? When 
the full-grown thief is hanged, do we not sometimes 
forget that he was the child of misery and vice — 
born for the gallows, nursed for the halter? Did we 
legislate a little more for the cradle, might we not 
be spared some pains for the hulks?) 

And then we had been told Guy Fawkes came from 
Spain. Where was Spain? Was it a million miles 
away? and what distance was a million miles? Were 
there little boys in Spain, or were they all like Guy 
Fawkes? How strange, and yet how delightful to 
us did it seem to feel that we were a part of the won- 
derful things about us ! To be at all upon this world 
— to be one at the great show of men and women — 
to feel that when we grew bigger we should know 
everything of kings, bishops, members of Parliament, 
and Guy Fawkes ! What a golden glory hung about 
the undiscovered ! 

And Guy Fawkes, we had heard, had his head cut 
off, and his body cut into quarters ! Could this be true ? 



2S4 RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 

Could men do to men what we had seen Folk the 
butcher do to sheep? How much, we thought, had 
little boys to grow out of before they could agree to 
this ! And then, w T hen done, what was the good of it? 
— what could be the good of it? Was Guy Fawkes 
eaten? If not, why cut him up? 

Had Guy Fawkes a wife, and little boys and girls? 
Did he love his children, and buy them toys and ap- 
ples? — or, like Sawney Bean, did he devour them? 
Did Guy Fawkes say his prayers? 

Had Guy Fawkes a friend? Did he ever laugh — 
did he ever tell a droll story? Did Guy Fawkes ever 
sing a song? Like Frampton, the Blue Town bar- 
ber, did Guy Fawkes ever get drunk? At length 
we put to ourselves the question of questions : — 

Was there ever such a man as Guy Fawkes ? 
Did Guy Fawkes ever live f 

This query annoyed us with the doubt that we had 
been tricked into a hate, a fear, a loathing, a wonder, 
and a mixture of these passions and emotions, for 
a fib. We felt disappointed when we felt the reality 
of Guy Fawkes to be doubtful. We had heard of 
griffins, and unicorns, of dragons, that had eaten men 
like apples ; and had then been told that there never 
had been any such thing. If w r e were not to believe 
in a dragon, why should we believe in Guy Fawkes? 
After all, was the whole story but make-game? 

The child passively accepts a story of the future — 
he can bring his mind up to a thing promised, but 
wants faith in the past. The cause is obvious: he 
recollects few things gone, but is full of things to 
come. Hence, Guy Fawkes was with us the ogre 



RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY FAWKES. 2S5 

of a nursery ; we could have readily believed, especial- 
ly after the story of Beauty and the Beast, that he 
married Goody Two Shoes, and was the father of 
little Red Riding Hood. 

But Guy Fawkes grows with us from boyhood to 
youth. He gets flesh and blood with every Novem- 
ber ; he is no longer the stuffed plaything of a school- 
boy or the grotesque excuse for begging vagabonds, 
but the veritable Guy Fawkes, " gentleman.'' We 
see him, " Thomas Percy's alleged man," at the door 
of the vault, " booted and spurred;" — we behold 
that u very tall and desperate fellow," lurking in the 
deep of night, with looks of deadly resolution, 
pounced upon by that vigilant gentleman of the 
privy chamber, Sir Thomas Knevet ! We go with 
Guido, u the new Mutius Scasvola, born in Eng- 
land," before the council, where u he often smiles in 
scornful manner, not only avowing the fact, but re- 
penting only, with the said Scsevola, his failing in 
the execution thereof." We think of him " answer- 
ing quickly to every man's objection, scoffing at any 
idle questions which were propounded to him, and 
jesting with such as he thought had no authority to 
examine him." And then we think of the thanks- 
giving of the great James, who gave praise that, had 
the intent of the wicked prevailed, he should not 
have " died ingloriously in an alehouse, or stew, or 
such vile place," but with " the best and most hon- 
orable company." * 

Guy Fawkes is, in our baby thought, a mysterious 

*See " His Majesty's speech concerning the Gunpowder Piot,"&c., in the 
Harleian Miscellany. 



286 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

vision — one of the shadows of evil advancing on 
the path of childhood. We grow older, and the 
substances of evil come close upon us — we see their 
dark lanterns and snuff the brimstone. 

i837- 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

CONTAINING THE OPINIONS AND ADVENTURES OF JUNI- 
PER HEDGEHOG, CABMAN, LONDON; AND WRITTEN TO 
HIS RELATIVES AND ACQUAINTANCE, IN VARIOUS PARTS 
OF THE WORLD. 

Letter I. 

To Peter Hedgehog, at Sydney. 

^EAR PETER: At last Pm settled to my 
heart's content. For fifteen years and more 
I've been fighting, and punching, and screwing, and 
doing — the Lord forgive me! — all sorts of mean 
tricks to be respectable ; and now I'm happy, for I've 
given the thing up. I've got rid of every bit of the 
gentleman, and drive a cab. Ha! you don't know 
— you can't think — what a blessing it is to get rid 
of all cares about what's genteel. It's like taking 
off fine tight boots, and stretching yourself in comforta- 
ble old slippers. How respectability did pinch, and 
gall, and rub the skin off me, to be sure ! but I've 
done with it. I've given up the trumpery for the 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 287 

good, stout, weather-proof character of cabman. Re- 
spectability is all very well for folks who can have it 
for ready money ; but to be obliged to run in debt for 
it — oh, it's enough to break the heart of an angel. 

Well, I've gone a good round, and it's nothing but 
right that I should be comfortable at last. Wasn't all 
the sweetness of my little boyhood lost in an attorney's 
office? At a time of life when I ought to have been 
bird's-nesting, shoeing cats with walnut-shells, spin- 
ning cockchafers on pins, and enjoying myself like 
any'other child of my age, — there I was half the day 
wearing out a wooden desk with my young breast- 
bone, and the other half running about, like a young 
cannibal, to serve writs ; sneaking, and shuffling, and 
lying worse than any play-bill, and feeling as happy 
as a devil's imp on a holiday whenever I " served" 
my man. Yes, Peter, that I've any more heart than 
an oyster left me, is a special favor of Providence ; 
for what a varmint I was ! If it hadn't been for the 
play-house, I should have been ruined. Yes, Peter, 
but for the Coburg Theatre, I have no doubt that at 
this time I should have been a sharp attorney, not 
able to smell as much as a lucifer match without the 
horrors. 

'Tis a great place for morals, the play-house, Peter. 
As I say, it quite drew me back into the paths of 
virtue. Old Simcox, my master, to keep me active, 
used to give me a shilling for every writ I served. 
He used to say, there was nothing like rubbing a 
young dog's nose in the blood, to make him sharp 
after the game. Well, with these shillings I used to 
go to the Coburg gallery. That gallery was my sal- 



2S8 TIIE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

vation. When I used to see the villain, who'd been 
so lucky all through the piece, chopped down like 
chopped wood at the last, — my conscience used to 
stir worse than the stomach-ache. And so by de- 
grees I liked the play-house more, and the writs less. 
And one day when Simcox told me to go and serve a 
writ upon the very actor who used to do me so much 
good — for he w T as always the cock of the walk as far 
as virtue went — I gave him such a speech about 
u tremble, villain, for there is an eye," that the old 
fellow gasped again. When he had recovered him- 
self enough to fling a ruler at my head, I put my cap 
on, and turned my back upon the law. 

After this, I sold play-bills at the Coburg doors, 
and that's how I picked up the deal I know about the 
stage. 

And so I went scrambling on till twentv, and how 
I lived I don't know. Indeed, when I look back, I 
often think money's of no use at all ; folks do quite 
as w r ell or better without it. Money's a habit — 
nothing more. 

At twenty — how it happened I can't tell — I found 
myself a tradesman. Yes ; I sold baked 'tatoes, and 
— on nipping winter days — used to feel myself a 
sort of benefactor to what is called our species. I 
had read a little at book-stalls and so on. And 
many a time have I, with a sort of pride, asked my- 
self if many of the Roman emperors ever sold two 
'tatoes, salt, and a bit of butter for a penny. I should 
think not. 

Well, at three-and-twenty down came that bit of 
money on me ! Whether it was really a relation who 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 289 

left it, or not, or whether it was all a mistake, I never 
asked, — I took the money. And that bit of money 
made me swell not a little. Yes ; I swelled like a 
toad — full of poison with it. Then I went to make 
no end of a fortune. I thought luck had fallen deep 
in love with me, and I couldn't go too far. 

There was a gentleman who always came with an 
order to the Coburg. A few years ago I should have 
said he was a Jew ; but now I know manners, and so 
call him a gentleman of the Hebrew persuasion. 
Well, if he couldn't talk melted butter ! We were 
both to make our fortunes, but I was to find the money 
for the couple. We went upon 'Change ; and, as he 
said, both of us were ruined. Ruin, however, could 
have been nothing strange to him, for he never seemed 
the worse for it. 

From that time, Peter, I was flung upon the hard 
stones of London. I had too much pride to go to the 
'tatoes again, and so took to billiards. Ha ! Peter, 
it's dirty bread ; it's bread with the head-ache, and the 
heart-ache, in it. That wouldn't do long ; though 
how I did shuffle and hedge, and make the most of 
the innocent, and all to try to keep myself respectable ! 

I tell you, for fifteen years I fought it out like a 
man. I didn't care what came of it, what folks said 
of me — I would be respectable. A superfine coat 
and a prime dinner I would have ; but ha, Peter ! it's 
all been taken out of me. I've given it up, I tell you, 
and I'm a happy cabman. 

Bless your soul ! you can't think what a happy life 
it is. Always seeing something new, and always 
riding with somebody. For you must know, my 
19 



29O THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

cab isn't one of the new concerns that divide the 
driver and his fare. That wouldn't suit me, no how. 
No ; I like to ride upon what I call an equality, and 
talk and learn life as I go, You can't believe the 
sort of people that I sometimes drive about, — and 
the things I get out of 'em. 

But I intend to write it all down, and to save the 
bother of posting, and ail that, to print my letters at 
once. Then, if my dear relations and acquaintance 
that are scattered in all the corners of the world don't 
know anything about me, 'twill be their fault, not 
mine. 

I couldn't have thought that a cabman's life could 
have so improved the mind. But when we meet at 
the Spotted Lion — that's our watering-house — there's 
something to be heard, I can tell you. I never troubled 
my head with politics before I drove a cab : no, I 
was little better than an animal — but I -should think 
that now I know something of the Bill of Rights, and 
all that ; and all from the newspapers. When the 
nose-bag's on the old mare, don't I read the debates 
in Parliament ! 

I was going to write you a bit upon the Sugar 
Question, but old Lumpy — he's our waterman — has 
called me for a job. 

So at present no more from your cousin and well- 
wisher, 

Juniper Hedgehog, 

1845. 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 29 1 

Letter II. 
To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 

My Dear Old Grandmother : Thank all your 
stars and two garters that you're out of England ! 
We're all going to be made Catholics. It's a settled 
fact. You ought henceforth never to cook a supper 
of sprats without looking at the gridiron, thinking 
of Smithfield, and being special grateful for your de- 
liverance. 

Nobody can tell what's come to half the Bishops, 
and three parts of the clergy. Such a noise about 
surplices and gowns ! The old story again. The 
old fight — as far as I can tell — about white and 
black ; one party vowing that the real thing's white, 
whilst the other will have it that the true white's 
black. Yes, grandmother, it's the old battle of black 
and white that, as far as my learning goes, has for 
hundreds of years filled this nice sort of world of ours 
with all kinds of trouble. Nobody can tell what's set 
these ministers of peace — as they call themselves — 
all of a sudden in such a pucker — but I think I've 
hit upon the cause ; and here it is. 

All this noise in the church has begun in the play- 
house. I'm sure of it. Foolish ' people say and 
write that we English folks don't care about plays. 
There never was such a mistake. In our hearts all 
of us, and especially many of the Bishops and clergy, 
dote upon the play-house ; hut then, you see, it isn't 
thought quite the thing for the clergy to go there. 



292 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

The Bishop of Exeter — I'm cock-sure of it — has a 
consuming love for a pantomime ; but then he 
wouldn't like to be seen in the boxes of Drury Lane, 
giving his countenance to the clown, that takes his 
tithe of all sorts of things that comes under his 
nose. The Bishop of London, too, — he, I've heard 
it said, got made a Bishop of by some intimate ac- 
quaintance of his that wrote plays in Greek. Well, 
he can't go and enjoy his laugh at the Hay market, — 
or have his feelings warmed till they boil over at his 
eyes at the Victoria (that was once the Coburg). So 
you see, as the Bishops can't decently stir from the 
church to the play-house, they've set their heads to- 
gether to bring the play-house to the church. And 
this accounts for all their fuss in the church, about 
what the play-house people call the u dresses and 
decorations." They seem to think that religion isn't 
enough of itself, unless it's " splendidly got up." 
Whereupon they want to go back to the old proper- 
ties ©f crosses, and candlesticks, and so forth, to fill 
the pews. Well, when the Bishops — the gray, sober 
men, the fathers of the church — have this hankering 
after a bit of show, it isn't to be expected that the 
young fellows will refuse the finery. Certainly not. 
Whereupon they're bringing in all sorts of fashions, it 
seems. They don't think it enough to belong to the 
Army of Martyrs, unless they've very handsome regi- 
mentals. 

In some of the churches they've revived what they 
call the offertory. It's this. At a certain part of the 
service, they send round a bag, or a pocket at the end 
of a stick, to all the people, to put money in. I have 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 293 

seen the same sort of thing used in the streets to reach 
to the first-floors, when the tumblers go about. Well, 
this money is gathered for a many things. But John 
Bull doesn't like it, They say the crocodile has his 
tender part somewhere about his belly — John's vital 
part is his breeches-pocket. Nevertheless, there's no 
doubt that the Bishop of Exeter — for he's very strong 
upon the offertory — has introduced it to make re- 
ligion, what is so very much liked in England, select 
and respectable. You see, the people who can't 
afford to drop their Sunday shillings and sixpences, 
won't have the face to go to worship at all, — or they 
may turn Dissenters, — and so the Established Church, 
like the Opera House, will be made, a place for what 
the Standard (I can tell you that is a religious news- 
paper, though you may never hear of it) calls the 
" better classes." Poor people may turn Anabaptists, 
or anything of that sort that's very cheap. Purple 
and fine linen ain't for everybody ; no, isn't there 
good stout sound cloth, and striped cotton? 

The Bishop of Loudon has been in very hot water 
with the folks at Tottenham about the Sunday silver, 
which they won't pay at all. Well, he says they 
needn't pay it for a twelvemonth. So it seems that a 
truth isn't a truth all at once ; it takes a year to grow. 
According to the Bishop it would seem that truth 
was born like a tadpole, that wanted time afore it 
came to be a perfect frog. 

Well, then, there's another notion about. It's said 
that the wants of the people are so many, that it's 
quite out of the power of the laboring clergy to at- 
tend to 'em. It would be worse than drayman's 



294 TIIE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

work. And so it has been recommended that there 
should be a sort of church militia raised in addition 
to the regulars. It was only last night that I drove 
down to Fulham a very chatty sort of man, — I think 
the under-butler of the Bishop of London. Well, he 
talked a good deal about this militia, — they're to be 
called deacons I think, and are to be considered a 
sort of a parson ; like young ravens not yet come to 
their full black. 

Well, it was quite plain that he hoped to be one of 
'em, for he said the places would be open to anybody 
really pious, of the humblest parts. He was very 
talkative ; and said these deacons would have all the 
comforts of the monks without any of their vows; 
going to people's houses ; worming themselves into 
their families, and learning all their business, carnal 
— yes, I think carnal was his word — and spiritual. 
When I asked him if, like the monks, they were to 
wear gowns and hoods (as I'd seen 'em at the Co- 
burg), he winked very knowingly, and said, with the 
blessing of Providence, that might come. At all 
events, they might begin with letters and numbers 
worked in gold or silver in their collars, and, some- 
thing after the new police, have a pink or purple 
strap about their cuffs, when upon spiritual duty. 

Folks are in a mighty stir about the matter ; but I 
think Exeter and London might bring all the people 
of their own minds ; if they only knew how to go 
about the business. I've just been reading Miss 
Martineau about mesmerism; and she says this — 
" It is almost an established opinion among some of 
the wisest students of mesmerism, that the mind of 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 295 

the somnambule [you must ask somebody about these 
words] mirrors that of the mesmerist ; " and then she 
goes on to say, " It certainly is true to a consider- 
able extent, as is pretty clearly proved when an igno- 
rant child — ignorant, especially of the Bible — dis- 
courses of the Scriptures and divinity when mes- 
merized by a clergyman" 

Now, the bishops have nothing to do but to mes- 
merize the people, — I'm sure I've known parsons 
who've done wonders with sleepy congregations, — 
have only to get 'em " to mirror their minds," and 
they may do as they please with crosses, and sur- 
plices, and saints, and offertory, and all that. In a 
word, the Bishops of Exeter and London have only 
to send all their flocks well to sleep, to shear 'em 
after what fashion they like. 

As yet, my dear grandmother. I haven't given noth- 
ing to the offertory, and I won't agree to the move 
about the surplice. But flesh is weak. I can't tell 
how r long I may hold out. Fashion's a strong thing, 
and always strongest when it sets towards the church. 
The day may come when I may take my gray mare 
— as I'm told they take all the animals in Italy — to 
be blessed and sprinkled on the feast of St. Anthony,, 
and the Bishop of London may do the job for her. 
But I'll hold out as long as I can. In the mean time 
let me have your prayers, and believe me your affec- 
tionate grandson, 

Juniper Hedgehog. 

P. S. I did intend to write to cousin Bridget, but 
Lumpy's called me away for a long job. 



296 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

Letter III. 
To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 

My Dear Grandmother : We're all safe for a 
time ; the Pope hasn't quite got hold of us yet. You 
recollect, when I was a boy, how I would fling stones, 
and call names, and go among other boys pelting 'em 
right and left, and swearing I didn't mean to hurt 
'em, but played off my pranks only for their good. 
And then, when I used to get into a terrible fight, 
you remember how you used to come in at the last 
minute, and carry me off home just as I was nearly 
giving in. And then, how afterwards I used to brag 
that if grandmother hadn't taken me away, I'd have 
licked twenty boys ; one down, another come on ! 
Well, well ; the more I see of life, the more I'm sure 
men only play over their boys' tricks ; only they do 
it with graver faces and worse words. 

What you did for me the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury has done for the Bishop of Exeter. Almost at 
the last minute, he has wrapped his ajDron about the 
Bishop and carried him out of the squabble. And 
now the Bishop writes a letter, as long as a church 
bell-rope, in which he says he only gives up fighting 
to show that he's obedient — more than hinting, that 
if he'd been allowed to go on, he'd have beaten all 
comers, with one hand tied behind him. At all 
events, he's very glad there's been a rumpus, as it 
proves there's pluck on both sides. Yes, he says, — 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 297 

"Whatever may have been the temporary results, I do 
not and cannot regret that I deemed it necessary publicly to 
assert those principles of church authority which it is alike 
the duty of all of us to recognize and inculcate. The very 
vehemence with which the assertion of them has been re- 
sisted, proves, if proof were necessary, the necessity of their 
being asserted, and of our never suffering them to fall into 
oblivion." 

If this isn't talking in the dark, I don't know what 
a rushlight is. You might as well say, that the 
" vehemence " with which a man resists a kicking, 
" proves the necessity " of kicking him. Because 
folks wouldn't at any price have surplices forced 
down their throats, and offertory bags poked into 
their pews, why, that's the very reason you should 
try to push both surplice and bag upon 'em. As I 
say, it shows there's blood on both sides — and it's a 
comfort to know that both parties are ready for a 
tussle. Well, I've heard this sort of preaching from 
a Tipperary cabman, and never wondeied ; but it 
does sound droll from a bishop. 

I've read something somewhere about the thunder 
of the church, and have now no doubt that it must 
be very serviceable ; it must so clear the air after a 
certain time. Here, for months, has Exeter been 
thundering in the newspaper — crack, crack, crack! 
it's gone almost every morning, till people wondered 
if the steeple of their own parish church was safe ; 
and now, at last, he sits himself down, and smiling 
as if his face was smeared with honey, folds his hands 
and softly says, " Thank Heaven ! we've had a 
lovely storm." 



29S THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

Talking about thunder, I once read a poem — one 
of those strange, odd things that give your brain a 
twist — called Festus. There was a passage in it 
that certainly did bother me ; but now I can perfectly 
understand it. Somebody says to another, — 

1 ' Why, how now I 
You look as tho' you fed on buttered thusider." 

Now, the Bishop of Exeter — I say it with all respect, 
grandmother; for you know you always taught me 
to love the bishops — is this very man. You've only 
to read his letters, really so noisy, and yet, as he de- 
clares, meaning to be so soft — to be sure that what 
he lives and thrives upon is buttered thunder. 

The Bishop, of course, isn't alone in his happiness 
at the row. One of his best friends, the Morning 
Post, believes it will do a deal of good. True piety, 
like physic, wants shaking to have its proper effect. 
The Post talked a little while ago about " the means 
which have made the church arise from its slumbers 
like a giard refreshed ; " that is, getting up in a 
white surplice, to be refreshed with ready money 
from the pews. I don't know how it is, but I don't 
think the church ought to be compared to a giant. 
All the giants I know are people of very queer char- 
acter. The best of 'em gluttonous, swaggering, over- 
bearing chaps, with nothing too hot or too heavy for 
'em to carry off; now, these are not at all the sort of 
creatures that we are likely to think of, when we're 
reading the Bishop of Exeter's letters. No : they 
rather remind us of a shepherd playing on his pipe 
— I've only read of these things — to his sheep and 
lambkins. 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 299 

The Morning Post further says, — 

"We are not among those who feel alarm at the present 
state of the church. The fermentation ivill throw off the 
scum, and what is good will remain." 

Now, grandmother, you know enough of boiling to 
know that " the scum " always floats on the top. 
Now, is anything on the top to be thrown off? Don't 
flurry yourself: the Post doesn't mean that. What 
it means is, that a whole lot of the vulgar members 
of the Established Church will be so fermented by 
the surplice, the offertory, and other Popish ingredi- 
ents — grains of Paradise as they tell us — that they'll 
be thrown clean out of it. You know how Bill Wig- 
gins once poisoned the pond, so that the fish was 
floated dead ashore. In the same way the church 
may get rid of its small fry, and wt what is good will 
remain." Then the church will be something like. 
Now, it's old and weather-stained, with time blotches 
and cracks about it. But how fine it will look with 
crucifixes and pictures of the Virgin inside — a clean 
white surplice always in the upper pulpit — and the 
whole building beautifully and thickly faced with 
Poman cement ! 

But at this present writing, it isn't all over in the 
city of Exeter. The Bishop having had his fling, — 
one of the journeymen, the Rev. Mr. Courtenay, 
minister of St. Sidvvell's, comes in for a little more 
than his share of the performance. Don't think I'm 
profane, dear grandmother — no, quite the reverse. 
But you have in your time been to Astley's, and seen 
the riding in the ring. Well, the principal rider 



300 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

comes, and does all manner of wonders whilst canter- 
ing and galloping, and going all kind of paces. 
When he's done, he makes his bow, and goes off. 
And then, after him, comes the clown. Well, he's 
determined to outdo all that's been done before him, 
— and for this purpose goes on with all sorts of ma- 
noeuvres. Now, the Bishop of Exeter has made his 
bow, and the Rev. Mr. Courtenay is, at the time I 
write, before the public. He will preach in a sur- 
plice. And that he may do so with safety — for all 
the folks in Exeter are in a pretty pucker about it — 
he goes to and from church, as I may say, in the 
bosom of the police. O, dear ! isn't it sad work, 
grandmother? this noise about black and white 
gowns, when churchmen ought to think of nothing 
but black and white souls ? Black and white ! as if 
there was a pattern-book of colors for heaven ! How- 
ever, how it will end nobody knows ; but if the mat- 
ter goes on as it promises, it is thought the Rev. Mr. 
Courtenay will call to his aid the yeomanry, and be 
escorted to St. Sid well's by a body-guard armed with 
ball cartridge. It is said he has bespoken two 
howitzers to keep off the mob from the church doors. 
I've hardly time to save the packet ; so remain 
Your affectionate grandson, 

Juniper Hedgehog. 

P. S. They do say that Mr. Courtenay wants to 
be made a martyr of. But the days for burning are 
all gone by. Besides, other folks declare that the 
parson of St. Sidwell's would have been too green to 
burn at any time. 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 3OI 

Letter IV. 
To Michael Hedgehog, at Hong Kong. 

Dear Michael: When you quitted England, in 
the Hong Kong division of police, I promised to write 
you all the news I could ; at least, such news as I 
knew you'd like. The crimes and evils of population 
were, I know, always a favorite matter with you. 
I'm sorry to say the evil's getting worse every day. 
And no wonder. You'll hardly believe it, Michael, 
seeing what a surplus of pauper flesh and blood re- 
spectable people have upon their hands, that there's 
a set of ignoramuses who absolutely offer a premium 
for babies ; for all the world, as they give away gold 
and silver medals for prize pigs. I take the bit of 
news I send you from The Times. You must know, 
that a few weeks ago, a " Mrs. Clements, of 21 Hunt 
Street, Mile-end New-town," had at once " three chil- 
dren, two girls and a boy." All, too, impudent 
enough to live. Well, The Times published an ac- 
count of the misdemeanor, and — would you believe 
it ? — some " generous individuals," as they are stupid- 
ly called, sent, among 'em, thirty-eight pounds for 
the mother and little ones. 

Now, what is this, as you'd say, but fostering a 
superabundance of population? It's no other than 
offering bribes to bring people into the country, — 
already as full as a cade of herrings ; and when every 
trade is eating part of its members up, for all the 
w r orld as melancholy monkeys eat their own tails ! 



303 . THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

Isn't it shocking: to encourage the lower classes to 
add to themselves? There's nothing that money 
won't do ; and I've no doubt, whatever, that, for some 
years to come, all children at Mile-end will be born 
by threes and fours. A shrewd fellow like you must 
have remarked how people imitate one another. 
You never yet heard of an odd act of suicide, or any 
kind of horror with originality in it, that it didn't for 
a little time become the fashion, as if it was a new 
bonnet, or a new boot. And so, among the lower 
orders, it will be in the matter of babies. Now, if 
Mrs. Clements had been sent to prison for the offence, 
then the evil might have been nipped in the bud ; 
but to reward her for her three babies, who could 
show no honest means of providing for themselves, 
why, it's flying in the face of all political economy. 
Three babies at once at Mile-end is monstrous. 
Even twins should be confined t© the higher ranks. 

You'll be glad to hear that we've been giving a 
round of dinners to your Chinese hero, Sir Henry 
Pottinger. At Manchester he was hailed as the very 
hero of cotton prints. They dined him very hand- 
somely, — and you may be sure there was a good 
deal of after-dinner speaking. A Rev. Canon Wray 
answered the toast for the clergy. I once read of a 
melancholy man, who thought all his body was turned 
into a glass bottle, and so wouldn't move for fear of 
going to pieces. Now, I'm certain of it, that there's 
a sort of clergyman, who, after some such humor, 
thinks himself a forty-two pounder ; for he is never 
heard at a public meeting that he doesn't fire away 
shot and gunpowder. The Rev. Canon said (or 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 303 

rather fired) his thanks, that Sir H. Pottinger u had 
opened a way for the march of the gospel." Now, 
Michael, I never heard of any artillery in the New 
Testament. And he further said, — 

" British arms seem scarcely ever to know a defeat. In 
the east, west, north, and south, our soldiers and sailors are, 
in the end, victorious. I cannot but think that, as Great 
Britain holds the tenets of the gospel in greater purity than 
any other nation, so she is intended by the divine will to 
carry inestimable blessings to all distant benighted climes. " 

Well, Michael, I've heard of a settler in mistake 
sowing gunpowder for onions ; but the Rev. Canon 
Wray, with his best knowledge about him, thinks 
there's nothing like sowing gunpowder for the 
" scriptural mustard-seed." I suppose he's right, be- 
cause he's a canon ; and therefore not to be disputed 
with by your ignorant, but affectionate brother, 

Juniper Hedgehog. 



Letter V. 

To Mrs. Barbara Wilcox, at Philadelphia. 

Dear Sister : It gave me great pleasure to learn 
from your letter that yourself, husband, and baby got 
safe and sound to your present home. You ask me to 
send you my portrait. It isn't in my power to do so 
at present ; but if I should be unfortunate enough to 
kill anybody, or set a dock-yard afire, or bamboozle 



304 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

the bank, — or, in short, do anything splashy to get a 
front place in the dock at the Old Bailey, — you may 
then have my portrait at next to nothing. Then, I 
can tell you, it will be drawn in capital style — at full 
length, three quarters, half length, and I know not 
what. I've read somewhere that in what people call 
the good old times — as times always get worse, what 
a pretty state the world will be in a thousand years 
hence ! — when there were dead men's heads on the 
top of Temple Bar, grinning down what people call 
an example on the folks below, — that there used to 
be fellows with spy-glasses ; and, at a penny a peep, 
they showed to the curious all the horror of the afore- 
said heads, not to be discovered by the naked eye. 
Well, the heads are gone ; — and the spy-glass traders 
too ; but for all that, there's the same sort of show 
going on, and a good scramble to turn the penny by 
it, only after a different fashion. Murderers are now 
shown in newspapers. They are no longer gib- 
beted in irons ; no, that was found to be shocking, 
and of no use : — they are now nicely cut in wood, 
and so insinuated into the bosoms of families. The 
more dreadful the murder, the greater value the por- 
trait ; which, for a time, is made a sort of personal 
acquaintance to thousands of respectable folks who 
pay the newspaper owner — the spy-glass man of our 
time — so much to stare at it as long as they like. 

I am certain that the shortest cut to popularity of 
some sort, is to cut somebody's throat. A dull, stupid 
fellow, that pays his way and does harm to nobody, 
— why, he may die off like a fly in November, and be 
no more thought of. But only let him do some 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 305 

devil's deed -do a bit of murder, as coolly as he'd 
pare a turnip : and what he does, and what he says ; 
whether he takes coffee, or brandy-and-water " cold 
without;" when he sleeps, and when he wakes; 
when he smiles, and when he grinds his teeth, — all 
of this is put down as if all the world went upon his 
movements, and couldn't go on without knowing 'em. 
To a man who wants to make a noise, he doesn't 
care how, all this is very tempting. I hope I mayn't 
come to be cut-in wood, — but still one would like to 
make a rumpus some way before one died. 

There's commonly an Old Bailey fashion, the same 
as a St. James's fashion. Just now — as you want to 
know all the domestic news — poison's carrying 
everything before it. 'Twould seem as if people sud- 
denly thought their relations rats, and treated 'em ac- 
cordingly. I never yet tried my hand upon a book, 
but I do think that I could throw off a nice little story 
with lots of arsenic in it — a sort of genteel Guide to 
Newgate. I've been reading about a lady, one To- 
fana, who made a great stir some years ago. She 
could give arsenic in such a manner, that she set peo- 
ple for death, as you'd set an alarum. She got a good 
many pupils, young married ladies, about her, who 
all of 'em put their husbands aside like an old-fash- 
ioned gown. Now, I do think that a novel called 
The Ladies' Poisoning Club, or Widowhood at 
Will) would just now make a bit of a stir. I don't 
mean to say that I could write a book ; that is, what 
folks call write: but I've a knack; I know I could 
imitate writing, just as an ape imitates a man. The 
subject grows upon me. I certainly think I shall 
20 



306 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

make a beginning. However, of this* you shall hear 
more by the next packet. I do think I could make a 
hit in what I call arsenicated literature. There's ar- 
senicated candles — why shouldn't there be arseni- 
cated books? — In haste. 

Your affectionate brother, 

Juniper Hedgehog. 

P. S. If I do the book, I shall follow it up with a 
sort of moral continuation, to be called The Stomach 
Pump. 

Letter VI. 
To Mr. Jonas Wilcox, Philadelphia. 

Dear Brother-in-Law : As my last letter was 
to sister, it is but fair that you should have the next 
dose of ink. Well, Parliament's opened ; and Sir 
Robert's made a clean breast of it — that is, if a 
Prime Minister can do such a thing. There never 
was such harmony in the House of Commons ! After 
Sir Robert had spoken out, you might have thought 
all the House was holding nothing but a love-feast. 
I was in the gallery — I won't tell you how I got in 
— and never saw such a sight in all my life. All the 
papers, I can't tell why, have oddly suppressed an ac- 
count of the matter ; therefore what you get from me 
will be exclusive — from your " own " correspondent. 
Treasure it accordingly. 

When Sir Robert said he should keep on the In- 
come-Tax for three years longer, almost the whole 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 307 

House fell into fits of delight at his goodness. You 
might have seen Whig embracing Tory — Radical 
throwing his arms about the neck of Conservative 
— and Young England with tears of gratitude roll- 
ing like buttermilk down upon his white waistcoat. 
When Sir Robert had quite finished his speech, there 
was a shower of nosegays flung upon him from the 
Treasury benches, just in the same way as now and 
then they pelt the actors at the play-houses ! Sir Robert 
picked 'em all up, and pressed 'em to his heart, and 
from the corners of his mouth smiled ten thousand 
thanks. Then, sitting down, he ver} T handsomely 
gave a flower apiece to what he calls his colleagues. 
He insisted — amidst the cheers of the House — on 
putting a forget-me-not in the button-hole of Mr. 
Gladstone (who sobbed audibly at the touch of friend- 
ship) ; and then he handed a lily — as an emblem of 
the Home Secretary's reputation — to Sir James 
Graham. At this, I needn't tell you, there w r ere 
u roars of laughter." To be sure, at this season of 
the year these flowers were artificial ; but for which 
reason, it was said by somebody, they were more in 
keeping with Sir Robert's measure. Two or three 
members — for form's sake — abused the Income- 
Tax, but nevertheless said they would vote for it. 
Lord John Russell called it a shameful, infamous, 
ignominious, tyrannical, prying impost: he would, 
however, support it. This is as if a man should de- 
nounce another as a coward, a ruffian, and a thief, 
and then — fold him to his bosom! But they do 
odd things in Parliament ! 

Sir Robert says we are to have the Income-Tax for 



30^ THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

only three years longer. Nonsense. He intends 
that we should grow with it upon us. He'll no more 
take it off than a Chinese mother will take off the lit- 
tle shoe — that, for the beauty of the full-grown 
woman, she puts upon the foot of her baby girl. The 
child may twist, and wriggle, and squall ; and the 
mother may now and then say pretty things — make 
pretty promises to it to keep it quiet — but the shoe's 
there for the sufferer's life. Now, John Bull — thinks 
Sir Robert Peel — will move all the better with his 
foot in the Income-Tax ; all the better, too, because it 
most galls and crushes a lower member. 

However, we are to have the duty off glass; which, 
says Sir Robert, is much better than if the duty were 
taken off light. It is not for such as me to dispute 
with a minister, but I can't see how, if I'm to get my 
house glazed duty free, it's quite as good as if there 
was no Window-Tax. To be sure, if a man, as a 
householder, were to new glaze himself from top to 
bottom once a quarter, it might be another thing ; he 
might save upon the glass what he now pays for the 
sun that, in London, tries to come through it. He 
may certainly afford to have more windows, — but 
will, I say, the saving on the glass pay for the light? 
Besides, not light alone — but air is paid for. There 
is at the present time a secret agitation going on 
among the cats of England. The grievance is this : — 
A man can't make a hole in his house for the cat to 
pass in and out to mouse or visit, without the said 
hole being surcharged as a window. This is a wrong 
done upon the cats of the country ; but whether done 
out of sympathy with the rats or not, let Sir James 
Graham answer. 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 309 

However, one comfort will come of cheap glass. 
Folks who choose to visit museums, and such public 
places, may break what they like of the material at a 
decreased cost for the pleasure. Before it was bad 
enough. Nothing, according to law, being worth 
more, than five pounds; so any malicious or morbid 
scoundrel (or both) might smash any rare piece of 
antiquity, and handing to the magistrate any sum 
over five pounds, bid him take the change out of that. 
I think a club might be formed for certain young 
chaps about town, to be called The Independent 
Smashers. They might subscribe to a common fund 
to pay fines ; and each in turn draw for the pleasure 
of a bit of destruction. With the duty taken off the 
article it would be remarkably cheap sport. How- 
ever, there is no doubt of it that Peel has got great 
lory by taking off this tax. A good deal of his repu- 
tation as a minister will be looked upon as glass; 
such side of his reputation in the eyes of an admiring 
country to be always " kept upwards." 

We are to have sugar, too, at about three halfpence 
a pound cheaper ; which Mrs. Hedgehog tells me 
will allow us to save at least sixpence a week : how- 
ever, what we shall have to pay to protect the West 
Indians, she, poor soul, never dreams of, and I 
should be a brute to tell her. Therefore — poor 
thing ! — she may now and then toast Sir Robert in 
her Twankay, without thinking of the 140,000/. we 
lose in the other way. Then, again, what we shall 
save in cotton is wonderful ! 

The auctioneers, too, are all right. They are to 
knock down at so much for life, instead of taking out 



£> 



3IO THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

a yearly license. It is thought that this enlarged 
piece of statesmanship came about out of compliment 
to George Robins, who in one of his familiar letters 
to the Premier, said he'd rather have it so. 

However, everybody says Sir Robert Peel's in for 
life. He's married to Downing Street, — and nothing 
but death can them part. One tiling's certain : he's 
got a thumping surplus.. And when any man in 
England gets that, folks are not very particular how 
he's come by it. 

So no more at present from your affectionate 
brother-in-law, Juniper Hedgehog. 



Letter VII. 

To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 

Dear Grandmother : It was very kind of you 
— though away from Old England — to have prayers 
put up for the Bishops of Exeter and London, and 
Air. Courtenay and Mr. Ward, with all the unfortu- 
nate young clergymen who've been frightening their 
good mother Church, for ail the world like }^oung 
ducklings that, hatched by a hen, would take water. 
The Bishops, you will.be glad to learn, are much 
better ; and now, Sunday after Sunday, the young 
parsons are taking off their white surplices, and put- 
ting on their old gowns, just like idle, flashy, young 
dogs, wdio've been making a noise at a masquerade, 
but are once more prepared to go back to their serious 
counters. Mr. Courtenay and two or three of his 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 3II 

kidney did think of putting on chain-armor under 
their surplices, like the Templars that you once saw 
in the play of Ivanhoe; but whether the Bishop of 
Exeter has interfered or not, I can't say ; the thing's 
given up. 

Mr. Ward, who has been turned out of Oxford for 
his Ideal of a Christian Church, — which means a 
church with censers and candlesticks, and pictures of 
the Virgin, and martyrs' bones, and other properties, 
— is going to be married ; if the business isn't done 
already. I shouldn't have written upon the matter, 
only Mr. W. has printed a letter in all the papers, 
giving his notions of the holy state. They, certainly, 
are very sweet and complimentary to the lady chosen 
by Mr. Ward ; for he says, — 

" First, I hold it most firmly as a truth even of natural re- 
ligion, that celibacy is a higher condition of life than mar- 
riage." 

Now, if celibacy is the highest condition of life, 
how is it that Adam and Eve came together while 
they were yet in Paradise? Their union — accord- 
ing to Mr. Ward — ought to have taken place after 
they both fell. Matrimony should have followed as 
a punishment for the apple. And then, when it was 
commanded to " increase and multiply," was it sup- 
posed that those who obeyed the command would not 
be in so " high a condition" as those who neglected 
it? But men read their Bibles through strange spec- 
tacles ! 

However, grandmother, as you like to hear all the 
chat about the church, you must know that last week 
I took up a fare near an oyster shop iri Co vent Garden 



312 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

— a very respectable sort of person ; in fact, I'm sure 
one of the Established Church. When he had left 
the cab, I found that The Ecclesiastical Gazette 
(No. Si) had dropped from his pocket. I've gone 
through it, and found parts of it — I mean the church 
advertisements — very odd indeed. You can't think 
how strange they read after the New Testament — if 
you wouldn't think the pulpit cushion was a counter, 
after reading 'em ! Look here, now : 

A CURATE WANTED in a large market-town forty 
miles from London, near a railroad, population five 
thousand, where the Incumbent resides and takes his full 
share of the duty. He must be in Priest's Orders, have a 
voice sufficiently loud for a very large church, and, whilst 
holding moderately high church views, be chiefly anxious 
to seek and save the lost by preaching Christ and Him cru- 
cified. Stipend, one hundred fioujids a-year. The Adver- 
tiser does not pledge himself to answer every letter. 

All of 'em bargain for a loud " voice : " you'd think, 
grandmother, the advertisements were for chorus- 
singers, and not clergymen. And, grandmother, can 
you tell me what " a /Moderate high church view" is? 
Is it moderate virtue — moderate honesty — moderate 
truth ? Pray tell me. 

Another advertiser wants " a pious and active 
curate," who will double his duty with " the tuition 
of the incumbent's sons." That incumbent has a 
good eye for a good pennyworth, depend upon it. 

At Bishop's Lydeard a curate is tempted with " a 
neat little cottage," and " almost certainly the chap- 
laincy of an adjoining union," with " other consider- 
ations " (what can they be, grandmother?), which 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 313 

will make the salary " equivalent to 100/. per annum." 
And for this he must be orthodox and married. 

Another curate is wanted in a u small parish in 
Berks," where "the ditty is very light" What 
would the apostles have said to such an offer? 

A beneficed clergyman, advertising from Camber- 
well, wishes for duty " in some agricultural and ftic- 
turesque part of the north of England." A pictu- 
resque part ! You see, it isn't every one who would 
like to preach in the wilderness. 

Another evirate is required in Nottinghamshire : 
salary, ioo/. per annum. He must have the highest 
references for "gentlemanly manners," as "the vicar 
is resident." I suppose, if the vicar was away, a 
second or third rate style would do well enough for 
the parishioners. 

However, you'll be glad to learn that several of the 
advertisers profess to be " void of tractarianism and 
other novelties." Just in the same way as they write 
up somewhere in Piccadilly — " The original brown 
bear." 

Another clergyman " is desirous of meeting with 
an early appointment in town : " and, grandmother, 
you may judge of the lengths this gentleman will go 
to preach Christianity and save human souls, when 
he adds, " No objection to the Surrey side ! " Isn't 
this good of him ? Because, you know, grandmother, 
the opera, and the club-houses, and the divans, and 
so forth, are none of 'em on the Surrey side. To be 
sure, there's the Victoria, and Astley's ■ — but they're 
low. 

Now, grandmother, don't all these advertisements 



314 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

smell a little too much of trade — don't they, for your 
notions of the right thing — jingle a little too much with 
gold and silver? As I'm an honest cabman, though 
I knew I was reading all about the Church and her 
pious sons, yet, somehow, the advertisements did put 
me in mind of " Rowland's Macassar," — " Mechi's 
Magic Strops," and " Good stout Cobs to be dis- 
posed of." 

I am, dear grandmother, your affectionate grand- 
son, 

Juniper Hedgehog. 

P. S. I open my letter to tell you that the Bishop 
of Exeter has broken out again. A Mr. Blunt, of 
Helston. w///wear the surplice ; and the Bishop, like 
a bottle-holder at a fight, backs him in his doings. 
Do have more prayers put up for the Bishop. 



Letter VIII. 

To Samuel Hedgehog, Gallantee Showman, 
Ratcliffe Highway. 

Dear Sam : I'm just come home from Hampstead ; 
and so, while the matter's fresh in my mind, I sit 
down to w r rite you a few lines. You have heard of 
the awful murder — of course. Well, I don't know: 
murder's a shocking thing, to be sure ; nobody can 
say it isn't; and yet, after what I've seen to-day — 
Sunday, mind — it does almost seem to me as if peo- 
ple took a sort of pleasure in it. Bless you ! if you'd 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 315 

only seen the hundreds and hundreds of folks figged 
out in their very best to enjoy a sight of the place 
where a man had been butchered — you'd have 
thought Haverstock field, stained and cursed as it is 
with blood — a second Vauxhall at the least. I'm 
sure I've seen people going to Greenwich Fair with 
not half the pleasure in their faces. However, I'll tell 
you all about it. 

I was called off the stand about eight this morning 
by a gentleman and lady, dressed as I thought for 
church. They're a little early, thought I, but that's 
their business. " Take us to Hampstead," said the 
gentleman ; " and mind, as near to the murder as 
possible." " Do, my good man," said the lady, — 
bless you ! to have looked at her you'd have thought 
she'd have fainted at the sound of murder, — " do, my 
good man," said she, " and make haste ; for I wouldn't 
be too late for anything. Take care of these," said 
she to the gentleman, giving him a basket, " and mind 
they don't break." Well, it's my business to drive a 
cab ; so I said nothing, but started for Hampstead. 
Bless you ! Before I'd got half up Tottenham Court 
road, it was no easy driving, I can tell you. The 
road swarmed ! Up and down the New Road, 
through Camden Town, and right to Haverstock 
Hill — I never saw anything like it, except perhaps 
on the day they run for the Derby. Everybody 
seemed turned out to enjoy themselves — determined 
to have a holiday, and no mistake. 

Well, I drove as near as I could to the place ; and 
then I got a boy to hold the horse, and got down and 
went along with my fare. If it didn't make me quite 



316 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

savage and sick, Sam, to see hundreds of fellows — 
well dressed gentry, mind you ! — gaping and loung- 
ing about, and now poking the grass with their sticks, 
as if it was something precious because blood had 
been shed upon it — and now breaking bits of the 
trees about the place, I suppose to make toothpicks 
and cribbage-pegs of. And then there were fathers 
— precious fools! — bringing their children with 
them, boys and girls, as though they'd brought 'em to 
a stall of gingerbread nuts, where they might fill their 
bellies and be happy! But the worst of all, Sam, 
was to see the women. Lots of 'em, nice, young, fair 
creatures, tender as if they were made of best wax, — 
there they were running along, and looking at the 
bushes, and the grass, and talking of the blood, and 
the death-struggle — just as if they were looking at 
and talking of the monkeys at the 'Logical Garden. 
Well, the handsomest of 'em after a time looked to 
me no better than young witches, — and that's the 
truth. Every minute I expected some of 'em to do a 
polka, they did after a time seem so to enjoy them- 
selves. 

Well, all of a sudden, I missed my fare. Looking 
about, I saw my gentleman go up to the brick wall. 
Then he took a heavy hammer out of his pocket, and 
knocking away, split a brick, and then knocked it out 
of the wall. u This is something like," said he to me, 
twinkling his eye ; " something to remember the mur- 
der by." And then he carefully wrapped the pieces 
of brick in a silk handkerchief, and put 'em in his 
breast pocket, as if they'd been lumps of diamonds. 
I said nothing — but I could have kicked him. How- 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 317 

ever, he hadn't done vet — for going to a part of the 
field, he said to his wife, — for so she proved to be, — 
" This is the place, Arabella ; the very place ; where's 
the pots?" Then the lady took three garden-pots 
from a basket, and then her husband, dropping upon 
his knees, turned up the earth with a large clasp- 
knife, and when he'd filled the pots, he dug up two 
or three daisy roots, and set 'em ; his wife smiling 
and looking as happy all the while as if she'd got a 
new gown, or a new bonnet, or both. " Come," 
said the gentleman, squinting at the daisy roots, and 
twisting one of the pots in his hands — " this is w r hat 
I call worth coming for. As I say, this is something 
to recollect a murder by. Humph ! " and then he 
paused a bit, and looked very wishfully at the stile — 
" humph ! I should like a walking-stick out of that; 
but the police are so particular, I suppose they 
wouldn't suffer it. Come along, Arabella ; " and se- 
curing the broken brick and the daisy roots in the 
pots, my gentleman went back to the cab. " Now 
drive as fast as you can to the church," he said ; "I 
, wouldn't but be there for any money." Well, I never 
did drive through such a crowd, but at last I managed 
it: and at last, — but no ; I haven't patience enough 
to write any more upon this part of it. There was 
nothing wanted in and about the churchyard to make 
it a fair, except a few stalls and such like. It made 
me sick, Sam, to look upon this murder's holiday. 

I wish you'd have seen the Yorkshire Grey, public 
house ! No sooner did they open the doors, than 
there was as much scrambling as at any play-house 
on boxing night. Well, the landlord didn't make a 



318 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

little by his gin that day ! Murder proved a good 
customer to him ! And then to see the hundreds and 
hundreds struggling and pushing to get to the bar — 
to hear 'em laughing and shouting — and seeing 'em 
tossing off their liquor — upon my life, Sam, there 
was a mob of well-dressed, well-to-do Englishmen, 
that considering what had brought them there, wasn't 
half so decent as a crowd of Zealand savages. 

Cricketing' s an English sport — so is single-stick — 
so are bowls — so are ninepins — and after what I've 
seen to-day — so, I'm sure of it, is murder. For my 
part, it does seem a little hard to hang the murderer 
himself, when it appears that he gives by his wicked- 
ness so much enjoyment to his fellow-subjects. 

Well, Sam, I'm now come to the marrow of my 
letter, and it's this. I do think if you will only take 
pains, and have all the murders of the year nicely got 
up, you may make a capital penn'orth of the lot with 
your show at Christmas. When lords and ladies 
make a scrimmage for it at police courts, and respec- 
table, pious people take in newspapers for the very 
best likenesses of prisoners and cutthroats, — I'm. 
sure you'd get custom — if the thing was well done 
— ay, " of the nobility, gentry, and public in general." 

Now, do, Sam, take my advice. Depend upon it, 
the pop'lar taste sets in for blood : and so, instead on 
winter's nights a going about with your old-fashioned 
cry of " Gallantee Show" — sing out, "Mur — der," 
and your fortune's made. And so no more from 
Your cousin and well-wisher, 

Juniper Hedgehog. 



. 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 319 

Letter IX. 

To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 

Dear Grandmother : You ought to be in Eng- 
land just now, we're in such a pleasant pucker. The 
Church is in danger again ! I have myself known her 
twenty times in peril, — but now, she really is at the 
very edge of destruction. You know there's a place 
called Maynooth College, where they bring up Roman 
Catholic priests for the use of Ireland. Well, there's 
a lot of folks, who will have it that this College is no 
bit better than certain tanks I've read of in India, 
where they breed young crocodiles to be worshipped 
by people who know no better. Sir Robert Peel in- 
tends to give 26,000/. a year to this place — it used 
to have an annual grant of 9,000/. — that the scholars 
may be increased in number, and that they may be 
better taught and more comfortably boarded "and 
lodged. Well, the members of the Church of Eng- 
land— although here and there they have grumbled 
at the matter, and have called the Pope names that 
pass in small change at Billingsgate — have been 
mute as fish compared to the Dissenters. It is they 
who have fought the fight ; it is they who have raised 
the price of parchment by darkening the House of 
Commons with clouds of petitions. It is they who 
have risen to a man, and have patted the British 
Lion, and twisted his tail, and goaded him — as you'd 
set a bull-dog on a cat — to tear Popery to pieces. 
But, dear grandmother, don't be afraid. Before 



320 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

you get my next lettter, with all this noise and boun- 
cing, we shall have settled down as quiet as stale 
soda-water. And then for the Church being in dan- 
ger, — bless you ! the very folks who are now hold- 
ing up their hands, thinking it will drop to pieces — 
(from its very richness, I suppose, like some of your 
plum-puddings) — why, they'll sleep quietly in their 
beds, and take their glass of wine and chicken with 
their usual appetite, until the Church shall be once 
more in trouble, once more to give 'em a pleasant, 
healthful shaking, — and then once more to let 'em 
easily down again. I've known some girls who've 
thought they best showed how tender they were by 
always going into fits: well, I do think that, just like 
'em, some people believe they best show their re- 
ligion when they scream and foam at the mouth 
about it. 

It's a settled belief with a good many pious people, 
w T ho are as careful of their religion as of their best 
service of china, only using it on holiday occasions 
for fear it should get chipped or flawed in working- 
day wear — it's the belief with them that a Papist is a 
sort of human toad — an abomination in the form of 
man. Doctor Croly has surely a notion of this sort. 
A few days ago he appeared on Covent Garden stage 
(I think his first appearance there since his comedy 
of Pride shall have a Fall) and called upon the 
Lord, with thunder and lightning and the sword, to 
kill his enemies — meaning Roman Catholics ! And 
then the Doctor showed how Providence had punished 
all naughty kings who had cast an eye of favor on the 
Pope. Capping this, the Doctor more than hinted that 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 32 I 

George the Fourth — the first gentleman in Europe, 
for he had a greater number of coats than all the rest 
of the kings put together — was somewhat suddenly 
called from his loving people, because he had passed 
the Bill that 'mancipated the Catholics. Well, when 
we think how many Catholics there are in the world 

— when we remember the millions of 'em scattered 
about the earth — it does appear to me a little bold in a 
worm of a man (whether the said worm wears clergy- 
man's black or not) praying to the Lord to destroy, 
crush, burn, whole nations of men and women, be- 
cause he wasn't born to think as they do. But so it 
is with some folks, very proud indeed of their Chris- 
tianity. Hear them talk and pray, and you w T ould 
think that Satan himself — the father of wickedness 

— had been the creator of ninety-nine men out of a 
hundred, and that it was the pure, elect, and lucky 
hundredth that religiously begged for the destruction 
of the ninety-nine. But all the noise is about the 
largeness of the sum — the 26,000/. The 9,000/. was 
every year quietly voted — for I call the gaggling of 
two or three Parliament geese as nothing — and still 
the Church stands unshaken on her foundations. By 
this it would seem, that with some folks it is the 
money that a wrong costs, and not the wrong itself, 
that is objectionable. Thinking after this fashion, 
drunkenness is not to be thought a vice if it be drunk- 
enness gratis ; it, however, increases in enormity with 
the increase of its price ; thus gin-drunkenness is 
merely wrong, but burgundy-drunkenness is infamous 
to the last degree. Haven't I read somewhere of an 
old Greek philosopher — if some of those chaps had 

21 



322 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

lived in these times, they'd now and then have found 
themselves at the police office — who felt mightily- 
disposed to do what was immoral, and only held back 
at the purchase-money ! I think he said, he wouldn't 
" buy repentance at so dear a price." Now, if he 
could have had the sin at a cheap pennyworth, the 
sin itself had been light indeed. It's the weight of 
money that makes the weight of crime. 

But, I suppose, Doctor Croly, Mr. M'Neile, and 
such folks — who seem to read their Bibles by the 
blue light of brimstone — believe that the extra money 
given to the Roman Catholic priests of Ireland will 
only be so much powder and shot with which they 
may bring down Protestants. Well, if money is to 
make converts, what has the Irish Protestant Church 
been about, that has always had a full money-bag at 
her girdle, and more than that, plenty of leisure to re- 
claim the fallen? She has always had a golden 
crook whereby to bring stray lambs into the fold, — 
and yet has added nothing to her flock. 

Now, according to my opinion, the folks who abuse 
Maynooth ought rather to feel glad that more money 
is to be given to her priests, seeing what an abun- 
dance of money, and good things purchased by money, 
have done for the Irish Protestant Church. It has 
become slow as it has become fat. Stuff even a pul- 
pit cushion with bank-notes, and it is strange to see 
how religion will sleep upon it. And therefore peo- 
ple ought to rejoice that the Catholic priest is to be 
made a little comfortable in worldly matters ! Ex- 
cellent, worthy churchmen, who can command the 
sports of the field, and all the pleasures of the tflMe, 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 323 

are not the busy, troublesome folks to go about con- 
verting their benighted neighbors ! And though the 
Maynooth pupils may not — like their beneficed 
rivals — keep fox-hounds, and enjoy the dearest turtle, 
pine-apples, and all that — they will not, I think, be 
in after-life more dangerous to the Protestant Church, 
because — when at College — they slept not more 
than two in a bed. 

But there's a sort of people in the world that can't 
bear making any progress. I wonder they ever walk, 
unless they walk backwards ! I wonder they don't 
refuse to go out when there's a new moon, — and all 
out of love and respect for that " ancient institution," 
the old one. But there always were such people, 
grandmother — always will be. When lucifers first 
came in, how many old women, stanch old souls — 
many of 'em worthy to be members of Parliament — 
stood by their matches and tinder-boxes, and cried out, 
44 No surrender ! " And how many of these old wo- 
men — disguised in male attire — every day go about 
at public meetings, professing to be ready to die for 
any tinder-box question that may come up ! Yes, 
ready — quite ready, to die for it; all the readier, 
perhaps, because dying for anything of the sort's now 
gone out of fashion. 

Even Sir James Graham says the time is gone by 
for ill-using Ireland. <; The time is gone by ! " And 
yet how many men before Sir James have stood up, 
and declared their time — the time " gone by " — was 
the best time possible for Ireland ; that what was 
doing for her could not be improved ; and, having 
thundered this, have sat down secure in a majority 



3 2 4 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 



that has voted for the evil to continue ! What a long 
while it is before men in power will learn to call 
things by their proper names ! What a time it takes 
to teach ministers to call evil, evil — and lies, lies I 

Sir Robert Peel has behaved in the handsomest 
manner in the matter. He says it is by no means his 
wish to rob the Whigs of the gratitude of Ireland for 
the Maynooth measure. Certainly not: they no 
doubt could have carried it had he joined them ; this, 
however, he would not do ; he has, however, no ob- 
jection that they should join him. And so, they may- 
have the gratitude, and he the patronage and power. 
They have helped him to open the oyster ; he swal- 
lows the fish, — and they are quite welcome to the 
shells. 

It is quite a delight to read Sir Robert's Parliament 
speeches. Did you ever talk to a man who seemed 
never to hear what you said, but only thought what 
he should say to pass for an answer? who seemed as 
though none of your words entered his ears, but all 
slid down his cheek? I've met with such people, 
and Sir Robert Peel— when I read his Maynooth 
speeches — does remind me of 'em. What a way he 
has of talking down the side of a speech, and never 
answering it direct ! I hardly wonder that the play- 
houses don't flourish, when there's such capital actors 
of all sorts in the Houses of Parliament. 

I had just been reading an account of two or three 
more Maynooth meetings, where some of the speakers 
talked about the true and the false religion, as though 
themselves had a sole and certain knowledge of what 
was true — what false: I had just been reading all 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 325 

this, when my eye fell upon a paragraph headed 
" Lord Rosse's Telescope." Lord Rosse, you must 
know, is one of those noblemen who do not pull off 
knockers — knock down cabmen — and always take 
a front seat at the Old Bailey, on a trial for murder. 
No : he has been making an enormous telescope ; 
and the paragraph I write of says — "Marvellous 
rumors are afloat respecting the astronomical discov- 
eries made by Lord Rosse's monster telescope. It is 
said that Regulus, instead of being a sphere, is ascer- 
tained to be a disk ; and, stranger still, that the nebula 
in the belt of Orion is a universal system — a sun, 
with planets moving round it, as the earth and her 
fellow-orbs move round our glorious luminary." 

Now, at one time, a man might have been burnt 
alive for taking it upon himself to say that Regulus 
was. not a sphere, but a disk ; and that Orion (I know 
nothing about him, save and except that a marvel- 
lously fine poem, price one farthing, was lately pub- 
lished with his name) did not wear in his belt any 
nebula, but a universal system ! La, grandmother ! 
when I read of these things, I feel a mixture of pain 
and pity for men that, instead of having their hearts 
and spirits tuned by the harmony that God is always 
playing to them — (and they won't hear it, the leathern- 
eared sinners !) — think of nothing but swearing that 
one thing's a disk, and the other a nebula, — when 
they only look through small glasses, wanting the 
great telescope to show 'em the real truth ! 

And so no more from your affectionate grandson, 

Juniper Hedgehog. 



326 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

P. S. I blush for myself, that I had almost forgot- 
ten to tell you that Doctor Wolff has come back, safe 
and sound, from the innermost part of India, where 
he went to try to save the lives of two Englishmen, 
Stoddart and Conolly. It was like going into a tiger's 
den to take flesh from the wild beast. And yet the 
stout-hearted man went ! Such an act makes us for- 
get the meanness and folly of a whole generation ! 
Captain Grover — a heart of gold, that ! — has pub- 
lished a book on the matter called The Bokhara 
Victims, As no doubt the New York publishers — 
in their anxiety to diffuse knowledge — have already 
published it for some five cents, do not fail to read it. 
As for Doctor Wolff, I wonder what Englishmen 
will do for him. If he'd come back from India after 
cutting twenty thousand throats, why, he might have 
had a round of dinners, diamond-hilted swords, wine- 
coolers as big as buckets, and so on; — as it is, I 
fear nothing can be done for him. However, we 
shall see. 

Letter X. 

To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 

Dear Grandmother : England's still above water : 
the sea doesn't } r et roll over Dover cliffs; nevertheless 
the Maynooth Grant, that I wrote to you about, is 
gone through the House of Commons ; and in a very 
few weeks the Papists, as you love to call 'em, 
w r ill have the money. Sir Culling Eardley Smith, 
Mr. Plumptre, and others of their kidney, may possi- 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 327 

bly for a month or two appear in the streets in sack- 
cloth and ashes, and with beards like Jew rabbis — 
just to show their respect for the departed constitution ; 
but after a decent time of mourning, they will, no 
doubt, be open to consolation, and take their dinners 
with their usual appetite. I shouldn't wonder, if in 
six months the Rev. Mr. M'Neile (of sulphurous 
principles) consents to eat and drink like anybody 
else ; and shall be by no means surprised if Doctor 
Croly is found to have regained at least all the flesh 
that anxiety and grief for the Church in danger have 
so deplorably deprived him of. It's wonderful to think 
how certain saints and patriots get lean and fat as 
sudden as rabbits ! Wonderful to think, when the 
whole world, according to their declaration, has gone 
to bits, how well and contentedly they still continue 
to live upon the pieces ! But, dear grandmother, what 
a blessing is Exeter Hall ! What a safety-valve it is 
for the patriotism, and indignation, and scorn, and 
hatred — and all other sorts of public virtues — that, 
but for it, or some such place, would fairly burst so 
many excellent folks, if they couldn't go and relieve 
their swelling souls with a bit of talk ! As it is, they 
speechify and are saved ! Only suppose there had 
been no place whereat worthy people could have 
abused the Maynooth Grant — no place wherein to 
air their own particular Christianity to the condem- 
nation of the religion of everybody else — what would 
have been the consequence? Why, they must have 
exploded — burst like the frog in the fable. Day after 
day, Mr. Wakley and his brother coroners would 
have been sitting on the body of some respec- 



328 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

ble saint and patriot — day after day we should have 
read the verdict — a Died by retention of abuse ! " 
Happily, while we have Exeter Hall, we are spared 
these national calamities. 

As I know, grandmother, your natural tenderness 
for all that concerns the bishops, I must — at the risk 
of bringing on your colic — inform you that they are 
again in danger. Even the Morning Post is begin- 
ning to neglect 'em! Some newspaper — I don't 
know which — has proposed, as the only true remedy 
for the distresses of the country, that there should be 
a greater number of bishops. Now, this, at the first 
blush, seems a capital notion. But only mark what 
follows. The writer would multiply episcopal bless- 
ings, by " distributing the revenues of the present 
sees, as they fall vacant, among a greater number of 
bishops ! " And the Morning Post doesn't at once 
put down his infamous proposal. Only imagine one 
Bishop of London slit into half-a-dozen bishops — one 
Henry of Exeter made twenty Henrys — just as you 
make bundles of small w r ood from one large piece ! 
After giving utterance to this wickedness, -the writer 
goes on to think " it impossible that the spiritual 
lords should continue to be members of the legisla- 
ture, after ceasing to be rich men." And this the 
Post calls " no singular opinion. For such is the 
habitual association of power and station in this 
country with wealth, that perhaps nine out of every 
ten persons that one might meet walking along the 
Strand, would say with this writer, that unless a prel- 
ate had his thousands a year, and his carriage, and 
his servants, and his grandeur of accessaries^ he could 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 329 

not properly take a part in counselling the govern- 
ment, or assisting to make laws in the Upper House of 
Parliament ! " And if the people think so, I've heard 
it said that the bishops have themselves to thank for 
such belief; seeing that the world often hears more 
of their carriages and servants than of the humility 
and tenderness that were shown by the Apostles ! 
The Post, however, to my amazement, is for stripping 
Lambeth and Fulham of much of their finery. Yes ; 
the Post absolutely says, " We protest against the 
opinion that, without the wealth, the worth of the 
bishops in the House of Lords would be nought. 
Nay, we can conceive the possibility of the influence 
of learning and eloquence, and venerable earnestness, 
being even greater zvhen disassociated from wealth 
and worldly interests ! " Only imagine, grandmother, 
the Bishop of London, walking down to the House 
of Lords, leaning on a horn-tipped staff, and not 
rolled along in his cushioned carriage, with a servant in 
purple livery to letdown the steps for him ! Isn't the 
picture terrible ? — isn't it what they call revolution- 
ary ? And yet the Morniizg Post — as coldly as this 
present month of May — can see the possibility of a 
Bishop of Exeter being cut into ten or twenty bishop- 
lings, and never swoon, or even so much as call out 
for hartshorn? Who is the revolutionist now? 

The month has been a dull month : politics and all 
that, have been as stupid as the weather. The trees 
and bushes have come out, to be sure ; but only, as 
it would seem, from a matter of habit, — because it's 
May by the almanac. However, the Duke of New- 
castle has very kindly tried to give us a fillip. As 



330 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

I've heard somebody say in some play or the other, 
" Orson is endowed with reason ! " We've had two 
letters from Clumber ! You must know that in the 
British Museum there are two or three mummies of 
Egyptian kings, the} 7 say, who lived, I don't know 
how many thousand years ago. Now, just suppose, 
grandmother, that one of these mummies — with his 
brains out, be it remembered — should have suddenly 
got up, and written a letter or two to Mehemet Ali 
and his Egyptians, thinking 'em the self-same Egyp- 
tians that used to worship crocodiles and ibises, and 
make gods of the leeks and onions that grew in their 
gardens, — suppose the British Museum mummy had 
done this, —well, the thing would have done no more 
than the political mummy of Clumber ; would have 
made just the same mistake as his well-meaning 
Grace, the Duke of Newcastle. 

" Forget all you've been learning for these last 
thirty years at least — give up the wickedness of 
steam — forego the iniquity of railroads — be content 
with sailing-smacks and stage-coaches — repeal the 
Reform Bill — repeal Catholic Emancipation — in a 
word, wipe everything from your minds gathered 
there since the good old times ' when George the 
Third was king' — come out again in the pig-tails 
and shoe-buckles of that blissful reign, — and I, Duke 
of Newcastle, am ready to march with you ! I am 
prepared, at every risk, to be the hero of the back- 
step ! " As yet, I've heard of nobody who has joined 
the Duke's standard; but if recruits should come in, 
I'll let you know. 

It is not unlikely, grandmother, that you may have 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 33 1 

a few Highland families sent over to America ; as 
they are now being carefully " weeded out " from 
their native places by certain landlords who think it 
better and more Christian-like to turn their lands into 
sheep-walks than to suffer them to be tenanted by 
mere men, women, and children. " Weeding" is a 
nice word — isn't it? It so capitally describes the 
worth of the thing rooted out. The poor man is of 
course the " weed ; " the rich is the " lily, that neither 
toils nor spins." And just now, it seems, certain 
places in the Highlands are overgrown with this rank, 
foul weed ; this encumbrance to the soil ; this one 
human thing, worse than thistle or nettle. What a 
beautiful world this would be — wouldn't it? — if this 
weed of poverty was cut up, burnt, destroyed, — got 
rid of any way? It's a dreadful nuisance ; and yet it 
will spring up, like groundsel or any other worthless 
thing ! And strange to say, the sun will shine upon 
it, and the dews of heaven descend upon it, all the 
same as if it was one of the aforesaid lilies, full of 
light and breathing sweetness. Odd, isn't it, that the 
sky should shine so impartially on both? 
Your affectionate grandson, 

Juniper Hedgehog, 



33 2 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 



Letter XL 

To Miss Kitty Hedgehog, Milliner, Phila- 
delphia. 

Dear Kitty : If I haven't written to you before 
this, it is because I've had nothing worth ink and 
paper to send you. I know that you've a mind above 
politics, and — may you be pardoned for the light- 
ness ! — can sleep like a cat in the sun, no matter how 
much the Church may be in danger. When, how- 
ever, there's anything stirring among silks and satins, 
why, then your woman's spirit is up, and all the mil- 
liner is roused within you. Knowing this, Kitty, I 
shall treat you with a few lines about a Powdered 
Ball we've lately had at Court, when everybody, out 
of compliment, I suppose, to what is called the wis- 
dom of their ancestors, went dressed like their great 
grandfathers and grandmothers. A huge comfort 
this to great people in the shades ! Dear Queen 
Charlotte was once again at Court, very flatteringly 
represented by a fine piece of point-lace worn by the 
blessed Victoria herself. And dukes, and lords, and 
generals — all of 'em sleeping in family lead — were 
once more walking minuets and dancing Sir Roger 
de Coverley. Everybody for a time lived more than 
a hundred years ago ; and, as I'm told, felt very happy 
at going backward even for one night. To go back 
is with many high folks the greatest proof of wisdom ; 
and therefore among such people the Powdered 
Ball was considered a glorious stride in the right 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 333 

direction. Only imagine the rapture of a Duke of 
Newcastle, living even in fancy for a few hours, at 
any time from 1715 to 1745 ; a time when there was 
no Reform Bill ; no steam-engines ; no railways ; no 
cheap books ! Think of the delight of many old 
gentlemen believing themselves their own grand- 
fathers ; quite away from these revolutionary days, 
and living again in " the good old times"! I've 
heard — though I don't answer for it — that two or 
three of 'em were so carried away by the thought 
that, to keep up the happiness as long as they could, 
they went to bed in their clothes, high-heeled shoes 

and all. At this very moment, they do say, Lord 

is still in his embroidered coat and smalls, with a 
wig like a white cloud upon him. He declares 1715 
is such a " good old time " that nothing shall make 
him go on again to 1845. He has ordered flambeaux 
for his servants, and now and then talks about going 
to Ranelagh. Moreover, by people quite worthy of 
belief, it is feared that this delusion, as they call it, is 
spreading amongst certain high folks — many of 'em 
thinking themselves a hundred years back, and want- 
ing to make Acts of Parliament in the spirit of that 
good old time. See, Kitty, how a Powdered Ball 
may turn the highest heads — even the nobs of a 
country ! 

The ladies were, of course, all jew r elled, and very 
fine. O, what a fortune some of 'em would have 
been to a poor man — with their stomachers! But, 
Kitty, there is one odd thing at these masks and balls. 
How is it that young ladies — with names as white as 
snow — sometimes take the characters, fly-spotted and 



334 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

damaged as they are, of sinful love-birds? You, 
Kitty, being a woman, can explain this : but to me, 
one of the ignorant, rough sex, it does seem odd that 
a pure young lady should dress herself as Nelly 
Gwynne or any other person of the sort, when the 
aforesaid pure lady would squeak — and, no doubt, 
very proper — at the living creature as if it was a toad. 
Can you explain this, Kitty? Do they take such 
characters, just as they put black patches on their 
cheeks, to bring out their own white all the stronger? 
Or is it that there's a sort of idle daring in it, just as 
children play with fire, though they never mean 
to burn themselves? I can't make it out: but how 
should I expect it — I, a poor, weak, ignorant man, 
— how should I unriddle a creature that's puzzled 
Solomon? 

Of course, there was an account of all the dresses. 
Well, when I opened the Morning Post, .and saw 
whole columns built o' nothing but velvets and satins 
and all that, if I didn't grin — like a clown through 
a collar for a new hat — at the vanity of life. " Look 
here," says I to Bill Fisher, that was sitting in the 
Spotted Lion, — u look at the conceit of these folks," 
says I, " who think that all the world's to stand still 
a reading about their ' gimp Brandenburghs, and 
buttons ' — ; their buttons and frogs ' — their ' blue 
facings and turnback' — and such mountebankery." 
" It's quite beneath us as men," says Bill ; " not at all 
like lords of the creation. Now I can forgive the 
women — poor little souls! — for having all their 
flounces and puffings put in the paper. It's nat'ral 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 335 

for them." "Why nat'ral?" says I. "Why," says 
Bill, " because they know it makes one another 
savage. Bless you ! that's what they do it for — and 
nothin' else." And then you should have heard how 
he laughed, as he spelt out the paper. " Look here 
now," says he, " here was a lady with c a dress looped 
with bouquets of pink roses ; skirt of rich green satin, 
trimmed with flounces of point lace and bouquets of 
roses ; white satin shoes with high heels, green 
rosettes with diamonds in the centre. Hair powdered, 
and ornamented with roses and diamonds.' Now, 
isn't it dreadful, Juniper, that people are to be stopped 
over their honest pint of porter with stuff like this? 
What's fc satin shoes with high heels' to all the 'versal 
world? But then, as I say, the women do it to make 
one another savage. I've often thought, since they 
like so to print in the papers what clothes they wear 
— that, at the same time, they might let the world 
know what books they read, what pictures they 
looked at, — in fact, what sort of dresses they put 
upon their minds. But, to be sure, this would make 
nobody savage." This is what Bill Fisher says ; but 
mark, Kitty, I'm not quite of his way of thinking ; 
though, after all, it does seem odd that a young lady 
should think it worth while to put all her clothes in 
print for all the world to spell over. 

But the Ball will have done a great deal of good, 
in making us look a hundred years back. How I 
should like to see the thing tried upon a grand scale ! 
Suppose that everybody in London, just for four-and- 
twenty hours, out of compliment to the great example 



336 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

set by the court, should live as if it was 1745! 
Wouldn't it he droll? Droll to have the gas out, and 
set up oil-twinklers ; droll to make the new police 
put on drab coats, and call the hours, like that "ven- 
erable institution," the watch ! Droll to have all the 
rail-trains stopped, and only book passengers for York 
by the wagon ! Droll to stop the steamboats on 
the river — the omnibuses in the street ; making folks 
move about in nothingbut wherries, hackney-coaches, 
and sedan-chairs ! Droll, too, would it be to start for 
Gravesend in the tilt-boat on a two days' voyage ! 
Well, I do hope that all this will be brought about. 
For if all folks in London were made to live only 
four-and-twenty hours of a hundred years ago — I do 
think that for the rest of their lives they'd shut their 
mouths about those precious good old times, that 
some people do now so like to cackle about. 

There's no doubt that the Powdered Ball has been 
a very fine affair, but the Ball of next season will be 
the grand thing. A nobleman's footman, as I last 
night drove, told me that at the Ball of next year, all 
true folks will wear supposed dresses from the time 
of 1915 to 1945 — that is, about a hundred years 
ahead. There's a good many opinions as to what 
they'll be. Some folks declare they'll be plain as 
drab — and some that we shall have all gone back 
again to the fashion of the painted Britons, as you 
see 'em in the History of England. By that time, it's 
thought, soldiers' uniforms will have gone quite out 
— the electric gun and such nickknacks having killed 
war, body and bones. Howsomever, 'twill be odd to 
see how people's fancy will dress themselves for a 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 337 

hundred years on ; there'll be more cleverness in that, 
if well done, than in wearing the precise coat and 
petticoat of your grandfather and grandmother. 
Your loving brother, 

Juniper Hedgehog. 



Letter XII. 
To Mrs. Hedgehog, New York. 

Dear Grandmother : The Maynooth Grant is 
granted, and the British Lion has once more gone to 
sleep. When either Sir Culling Smith, Mr. M'Neill, 
or Doctor Croly shall pinch his tail, and make him 
roar again, j t ou shall have due notice of the danger. 
I think, however, that the Lion is safe to sleep until 
next May, when, of course, he'll again be stirred up 
for the folks at Exeter Hall. In the mean time he 
must be tired — very drowsy, after the speeches that 
have been made at him ; so let him sleep on. 

Yes : Maynooth College has got the new grant ; 
nevertheless — to the astonishment of the Duke of 
Newcastle and Company — the sun rises every morn- 
ing as if nothing had happened; and, so hard does 
the love of shillings make man's heart, London trades- 
men still smile behind their counters, never thinking 
that their tills are threatened with an earthquake. 
Newcastle and other Peers — just out of consolation 
to their shades — have written what's called a " Pro- 
test " against the grant : and a hundred years hence, 
when England is blown to atoms by the measure, 
22 



338 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

very comfortable it will be to their ghosts, as they 
walk among the ruins, to see men reading the afore- 
said " Protest," and hear them crying, " A prophet ! 
a prophet ! " 

And now, grandmother, comes the Roman Catholic 
Bishops. They won't have Peel's plan of education, 
unless all the masters are to be of their own faith. 
For, they say, " the Roman Catholic pupils could not 
attend the lectures on history, logic, metaphysics, 
moral philosophy, geology, or anatomy, without ex- 
posing their faith or morals to imminent danger, un- 
less a Roman Catholic professor shall be appointed 
for each of those chairs." You see, the lecturer on 
history, if a Protestant, might be for making Queen 
Mary — Bloody Mary, as I was taught to call her at 
day-school — a very cruel wretch, indeed; whereas 
the Queen Mary of the Catholic might be a very nice 
woman, who never could abide fagots, and never 
knew where Smithfield was. And then for logic 
(you must, as I've said before, look in the dictionary 
for hard words), — logic, it seems, is a matter of re- 
ligion. What's logic to a Protestant isn't logic to a 
Catholic, or a Mahometan, or a Chinese ! In the 
same way, I suppose that a straight line in London 
would be what they call a curve in Dublin, and per- 
haps a whole circle at Canton. And then for " ge- 
ology " and " anatomy." The Protestant geologist 
might make the earth younger or older than it really 
is, and all to suit his own wicked purposes. Again, 
look at the danger of having a Protestant lecturer on 
anatomy ! Why, we all know that's there's nothing 
certain in anatomy ; that it's all a matter of faith. 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 339 

Thus, if a Catholic anatomist lectured, we'll say, 
upon the body of a Protestant pluralist, he might out 
of blindness declare that the said body never had a 
a single atom of heart ; that such pluralists always 
lived without the article. While, on the other side, 
the real Protestant lecturer, discussing on the self- 
same cor pits, might declare that it was all heart, like 
a summer cabbage ! " Professors' chairs ! " When 
I read these things, I somehow do think of the baby 
chair that I used to be set up in to take my meals, 
with a stick run through the arms to keep me from 
tumbling out. The talk is so childish ! 

You ask me about your pet, the Bishop of Exeter. 
Well, the clergy of his diocese have just suffered 
what's called his " charge." A charge, grandmother, 
in which the Bishop generally contrives to put in a 
lot of small shot to pepper about him right and left. 
As usual, he talked a good deal about himself; mak- 
ing Exeter out such a soft, gentle person — such a 
lump of Christian butter — that in this hot weather, 
it's wonderful he hasn't melted long ago. Ha, grand- 
mother ! what a lawyer was spoiled in that Bishop ! 
What a brain he has for cobwebs ! How he drags 
you along through sentence after sentence — every 
one a dark passage — until your head swims, and 
you can't see your finger close to your nose ! He 
talked about this Puseyite stuff — this play-acting of 
the Church — for I don't know how long; but 
whether he very much likes it, or very much hates it, 
it's more than any cabman's brains can make out. I 
never read one of Exeter's charges, that I don't think 
of a sharp lawyer quite spoiled — but this last is a 



34° THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

greater tangle than all. He talked a good deal about 
" the Apostolical succession," the truth of which, he 
said, he would defend. How I should like to hear 
him trace himself — Henry of Exeter — upwards I 
He then came to the new Bill that was to take the 
right of divorce out of the hands of the Church. He 
said, " Let the Liberalism of the age be content with 
what it had already achieved. It was enough for one 
generation, that men and women might be coupled to- 
gether in a Registrar's office, with as total an absence 
of all religious sanction, as if one huckster were 
coupled up in partnership with another." Here the 
Bishop's right enough, no doubt. For if the Bishops' 
court loses cases of divorce, what lots of fees go from 
them to the mere lawyers ! A wedding-ring and a 
license are things almost dog-cheap ; but, O grand- 
mother ! what a lot of money it takes to break that 
ring — what a heap .of cash to tear up the license: 
and that's the reason that divorce, like green peas at 
Christmas, can only be afforded by the rich. Next, 
the Bishop had a fling at what he called "the un- 
happy beings who went to Mechanics' Institutes and 
lecture-rooms." He said they wanted "the discipline 
of the heart and the chastening influence of true re- 
ligion." I'm an ignorant cabman, grandmother ; but 
if so many " millions," as the Bishop said, want this, 
— I must ask, what do we pay the Church for? If so 
many of us are no better, as Exeter said, than " any 
of the wildest savages who devoured one another in 
New Zealand," for what, in the name of pounds, 
shillings, and pence, do w T e pay Church rates? Why 
don't the Bishops and the high preachers of the 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 34I 

Church come more among us? Why, thinking of 
the " Apostolical succession," don't they copy more 
than they do the fishermen and tent-makers who are 
their forefathers? I can't help asking this; though, 
as I said, I know I'm an ignorant cabman. 

The Bishop, however, after scolding a good deal, 
tried to end mildly and like a Christian. I've read at 
some book-stall of an Indian leaf. One side of it acts 
"as a blister: then take it off, turn it, and the other 
side serves for the salve. The Bishop of Exeter, to 
my mind, always tries to make his charge a leaf of 
this sort ; though I must say it, one side is generally 
stronger than the other — better for blistering than 
healing. So no more from your affectionate grand- 
son, 

Juniper Hedgehog. 



Letter XIII. 

To Richard Monckton Milnes, Esq., M. P.* 

Sir : As I once had the honor to drive you down 
to Parliament — and as I found you such an affable 
gentleman, with no pride at all in you (I say noth- 
ing about the sixpence you gave me over my fare) 
— I make no bones at all in writing these few lines 
to you, about your motion for private hanging. I 
see by the newspapers that you want to make a law 

*Now Lord Houghton. The Saturday Review, in noticing one of his Lord- 
ship's books, says that " none of our readers will require to be told that Lord 
Houghton is a continuation of Richard Monckton Milnes." — Ed. 



342 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

to hang inside of the jail, in a snug and quiet, way; 
and not to have the show' in the open street. Pardon 
a cabman's boldness ; but really, Mr. Milnes, you 
can't have thought of the shocking consequence of 
your measure, if so be it had been carried out. 
What ! Make a law for private hanging ! With one 
bit of parchment destroy what I'll be bold enough to 
call one of the chief amusements of the people? Sir 
James Graham knows better than this ; for he gener- 
ally contrives to have an execution on Easter and 
Whit Monday, just by the way of an early whet to 
the appetites of the holiday-makers. First the Old 
Bailey and then Greenwich ; Mr. Calcraft, the hang- 
man — and then the fire-eater and the clown. Your 
bill, sir, — do forgive my boldness, — was very rash, 
and not at all just. They've taken away bear-baiting, 
and duck-hunting, and dog-fighting, from what they 
call the lower orders ; and now you'd deprive 'em of 
their last and dearest privilege — you'd, with one 
dash of the pen, rob 'em of their own public gallows? 
And you call yourself a friend of the people, Mr, 
Milnes — a stickler for their ancient sports and pas- 
times? I don't wonder that for once something like 
shame came over Parliament — that not forty consci- 
entious members stopped to listen to you — and that, 
in a word, you were " counted out." 

I have said your bill was unjust, shamefully unjust, 
unless you can prove to me that there was a clause in 
it to what they call indemnify the housekeepers in the 
Old Bailey for their loss of vested interests, seeing 
that they make no end of money by letting their win- 
dows at a popular hanging. Why, a Hocker's worth 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 343 

any money to 'em ; for it's odd how hanging brings 
down the pride of some of the upper classes, many of 
the nobs enjoying it quite as much as the lower orders, 
only that they give one or two guineas — according 
to the beauty of the murder — for comfortable sitting 
room. If the men they call the Six Clerks were in- 
demnified, surely you wouldn't rob the tradesmen of 
the Old Bailey. 

But it really is shocking to see how a mere mem- 
ber of Parliament will set himself up against a clergy- 
man of Newgate ! Didn't the Rev. Mr. Davis preach 
that the whole use and beauty of hanging was to be 
found in making it public? According to him, if it 
was possible to hang a man where all England might 
see him strangled, why, all England would certainly 
be the better for it. I've no doubt that the cause of 
so much crime is in the smallness of the Old Bailey, 
that w T ill only accommodate such a few ! Why 
shouldn't the gallows be erected on Salisbury Plain, 
with cheap railway excursions from all parts on 
hanging days? . 

Pardon me, sir; but there never was. such a mis- 
take as to think to do away with the wickedness of 
hanging by making it private. In the first place, if 
to see a hanging is no warning to the beholder, do 
you think that to hear or read of a hanging would do 
all the good of an example? Does what men see, or 
what they hear, stir 'em the most? But let us suppose 
that a man is to be hanged inside of Newgate. Why, 
the penny-a-liners, that get their sops-in-the-pan out of 
the condemned cell, — why, they would write all sorts 
of pretty things, all kinds of interesting stories about 



344 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

the last minutes of the criminal, and so the curiosity 
of the town would be more agog than ever. The 
picture newspapers that publish the murderers' por- 
traits — those family papers for the instruction and 
amusement of the younger branches — would give 
half-a-dozen pictures where they now give one. The 
secrecy of the thing would give a flavor to the whole 
matter. 

And now, suppose that a rich man was to be 
privately hanged ; a banker, we'll say, or, saving your 
presence, even a member of Parliament. Well, we 
know how unbelieving is man. There's thousands 
of people who would never sleep quietly in their 
beds, for the thought that the said banker or member 
was never hanged at all ; — but was smuggled out 
alive in a coffin, and shipped abroad. Every year or 
so, there' d be a letter in the newspapers from some- 
body who had seen the banker somewhere in the 
Back-woods, where he had married one of the Chac- 
taws, and got a family of ten children. No, Mr. 
Milnes, private hanging won't do ; the people arn't to 
be cheated out of their pleasure after that fashion. 

Besides, Mr. Milnes, all hanging's a bungle. The 
gallows is condemned, marked to come down ; tim- 
ber by timber it's loosening, and it's no use trying to 
keep it together with small corking-pins. No, Mr. 
Milnes, it will better become you, be more like your 
kind, good-natured self, to give a pull at the planks, 
to bring the whole machine to the ground, to make 
it a thing of the past, like the bonfires that burnt 
witches, — and for the hangman thrown out of work, 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 345 

why, small retiring allowances have been given to 
worse public servants. 

Hoping, sir, that you'll excuse my boldness, 
I remain your obedient servant, 

Juniper Hedgehog. 

P. S. You know my number, sir, and I'm always 
in Palace Yard. 



Letter XIV. 

To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 

Dear Grandmother: September's so near we 
can almost put our hand upon it, and yet I'm in Lon- 
don. It's a dreadful confession of poverty, but I can't 
help it. If I'm not ashamed to be seen on my stand, 
I'm not a licensed cabman. The only comfort is, 
everybody that stays in town must be as poor as my- 
self; and that, according to some folks' notions, is a 
blessing to think of. A purse that was dropped on the 
pavement of Regent Street lay there a week, and was 
at last picked up by a policeman. London never 
looked so poor and dull ; for all the world like a fine 
lady in an undress gown, with all her paint wiped 
off. The opera is shut up, and the manager has had 
a silver bed-candlestick given him by lords and dukes, 
because he has been so full of public spirit as to 
make his own fortune. By the way, grandmother, I 
don't know how it is with the player folks in New 
York ; but here with us, if a man or woman want a 



346 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

bit of plate, they've only to take a theatre. A play- 
house is a short cut to a silversmith's. There isn't a 
London manager who isn't plated after this fashion, 
which shows there is no place for true gratitude like 
the green-room. But I ask your pardon for talking 
of such matters : knowing what a low place you 
think the theatres. 

Parliament, like a goose that has been set upon too 
many eggs, has risen with half of 'em come to noth- 
ing. But this, grandmother, is the old trick. When 
the Parliament first opens, and ministers come down 
with new law after law, — why, what busy, bustling 
folks they seem ! What a look of business it gives to 
the whole thing ! But half of 'em is only for show ; 
just so many dummies to take in w T hat shopkeepers 
call " an enlightened public." You know the bottles 
of red and blue that they have in apothecaries' shops. 
Well, half the folks think 'em physic, when they're 
nothing in the world but colored water. Sir James 
Graham's Medical Bill was just one of these things ; 
nothing real in it ; but something made up for show ; 
just to give a coloring to business. Talking of Par- 
liament, a dreadful accident happened at the proro- 
gation. 

You know it's the privilege of the Duke of Argyll 
to bear the royal crown before the Queen. Certain 
noble folks come into the world with certain privi- 
leges of the kind. One has a right to stir the royal 
tea-cup on the day of the coronation — another to put 
on the Queen's pattens whenever she shall walk in 
the city — another to present the monarch with a pint 
of periwinkles when he shall visit Billingsgate; and 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 347 

so forth : all customs of the good old times, when 
people thought kings and queens were angels in 
disguise who had kindly left heaven just to give poor 
mortals here a lift — in fact, to make the world en- 
durable. Well, the Duke of Argyll, walking back- 
wards with the crown — going straightfor wards not 
being at all the thing in the court — fell, poor old 
gentleman, down some steps — and, falling, dropped 
the crown I Phevvgh ! There was a shower of pearls 
and diamonds ; for all the precious stones came rat- 
tling on the floor, just as if the queen, like the little 
girl in the fairy story, had been talking jewels. There 
were thoughts, fra told, of calling in the police to 
keep off the mob of peers ; but altogether they be- 
haved themselves very well, and not a precious stone 
was found missing. The accident, however, caused 
a great fuss ; and I'm told that in order to prevent its 
happening again, Madame Tussaud has offered to 
make a Duke of Argyll in wax, that, fitted up with 
proper w 7 heels and springs, may be made to go back- 
wards, with no fear of a tumble. Should the thing 
succeed — and I don't see why it shouldn't — it would 
be a great saving in the way of salaries to the country, 
if a good many other court officers were manufactured 
after the like fashion. They would work quite as 
regularly, and look just as well. 

I'd almost forgotten to say that the king of the 
Dutch has been on a visit to us — and, as I've heard, 
a very decent sort of king he is. Of course he played 
whilst here at a little bit of soldiering — guards and 
grenadiers were turned out in the Hyde Park, that he 
might review their helmets and bear-skin caps. Isn't 



34§ THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

it odd, grandmother, that the first show kings and 
princes, when they come to us, want to stare at, is a 
show of soldiers? Just to see how nicely men are 
armed and mounted to kill men ? They don't mean 
any harm by it, of course ; but still — I can't help 
thinking it — it does appear to me, if Beelzebub was 
to go into a strange country — if, indeed, there is any 
country he's not yet visited — the sight he'd first like 
to see would be the sight of men taught the best way 
of cutting men's throats. And then (if he came here 
to London) he'd go down to Woolwich Marshes to 
see what they call rocket-practice. And, wouldn't 
he rub his hands, and switch about his tail, to see 
how rocket and shells split, break, tear away every- 
thing before 'em, showing what pretty work they'd 
make of a solid square of living flesh, standing for so 
many pence a day to be made a target of ? You'd 
think it would be some wicked spirit that would en- 
joy this fun ; but no, grandmother, it isn't so ; quite 
the contrary ; it's, kings and princes. And yet I 
should like to have some king come over here who 
wouldn't care to go a soldiering in Hyde Park ; 
who wouldn't think of rocket-practice ; but who, on 
the contrary, would go about to our schools, and 
our hospitals, and our asylums, and all places where 
man does what he can to help man — to assist and 
comfort him like a fellow-creature, and not to tear 
him limb from limb like a devil ! 

Our Queen has gone to Germany to see where 
Prince Albert was born. Well, there's something 
pretty and wife-like in the thought of this, and I like it. 
There was a dreadful fear among some of the nobs in 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 349 

Parliament, that while the Queen was away, the 
kingdom would drop to pieces. But it isn't so : the 
tax-gatherer calls just the same as ever. The Queen 
took ship, and landed at Antwerp, — at the Quai 
Vandyke. Now, Vandyke, you must know, was a 
famous painter ; and abroad, they've a fashion of 
naming streets and places after folks that's called 
geniuses. We haven't come to that yet. Only think 
of our having a Hogarth Square, or a Shakespeare in- 
stead of a Waterloo Bridge ! And then for statues 
in the streets, we don't give them to authors and 
painters, but only to kings and dukes that don't pay 
their debts. 

Still, I do feel for her gracious majesty. Dear 
soul ! Isn't it dreadful that a gentlewoman can't step 
abroad — can't take boat, but what there's a hundred 
guns blazing, firing away at her, — as if the noise of 
cannons and the smell of gunpowder was like the 
songs of nightingales and the scent of roses ! How 
royalty keeps its hearing, I can't tell. When the dear 
lady got upon the Rhine, there were the guns blazing 
away as though heaven and earth were come together ! 

It's odd enough that people will think a great noise 
is a great respect ; and that the heartiest welcome 
can only be given by gunpowder. It seems that the 
folks were putting up a statue to a musician, named 
Beethoven, and the Queen of England and the Prince 
w 7 ere just in time to pay their respects to the bronze. 
Mr. Beethoven while alive was nobody ; but it's odd 
how a man's worth is raked up from his coffin ! And 
so, it's a great comfort to great men who, when in 
this world, are thought very small indeed, to think 



350 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

bow big they'll be upon earth, after they've gone to 
heaven — a comfort for 'em, when they may happen 
to want a coat, to think of the suit of bronze or marble 
that kings and queens will afterwards give 'em. If, 
now, there's any English composer — any man with 
a mind in him, forced for want of better employment 
to give young ladies lessons on the piano, — when he 
should be doing sonatas and sinfonias and that sort 
of thing, — why, I say, it must be a comfort for him 
to know that folks can honor genius when it's put up 
by the way of statue in the market-place. 

One of the prettiest stories I've heard of the jaunt 
is this, — that the Queen and Albert went in a quiet 
way to visit the Prince's old schoolmaster. If this 
isn't enough to make all schoolmasters in England 
hold their heads up half-a-yard higher! Besides, 
it mayn't show a bad example to high folks who 
keep tutors and governesses. 

All together the Queen must be pleased with her 
trip, and I should think not the less pleased where the 
folks made the least noise ; although, from what I read 
in one of the papers, everybody doesn't think so ; for 
the writer complains that there was " no shouting 
or noise, but only that eternal bowing which so 
strikes a traveller, and which would make one believe 
that beings across the Channel were formed with some 
natural affinity between their right hands and their 
hats." Really, to my mind there's something more 
pleasing, more rational like, in one human creature 
quietly bowing to another, than in shouting and halloo- 
ing at him like a wild Indian. But, then, people do 
so like noise ! 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 35 1 

You'll be sorry to hear, grandmother, that your 
pets, the bishops, are again in trouble. I'm sure of 
it, bishops were never intended to have anything to 
do with money : they always tumble into such mis- 
takes, whenever they touch it ! How is it to be ex- 
pected that they should know the mystery of pounds, 
shillings, and pence, — they who can't abide earthly 
vanities — they who are always above this world, 
though they never go up, as I hear, with Mr. Green 
in his balloon? Well, it seems that the bishops have 
had a mint of money put into their hands, that they 
may build new churches for their fellow-sinners, 
whom they call spiritually destitute. Well, would 
you think it? — in a moment of strange forgetfulness, 
they've laid out so much money upon palaces for 
themselves, that they can't build the proper number 
of churches for the poor? The bishops have taken 
care of the bishops, — and for the spiritually desti- 
tute, why, they may worship in highways and by- 
ways, in fields and in commons. Of course the 
bishops never meant this. No : it has all come about 
from their knowing nothing of the value of money. 
Still, what's called the lower orders won't believe 
this. And isn't it a shocking thing to consider that 
the poor man may look at Bishop So-and-so with a 
grudge in his eye, saying to himself, u Yes, you've 
built yourself a fine house — you've got your fine cedars 
and all that King Solomon talks about in your own 
palace — but where's my sittings in church — where, 
bishop, is my bench in the middle aisle?" 

This is so dreadful to think of, that I can't write 
any further upon it ; and so no more from your affec- 
tionate grandson, Juniper Hedgehog. 



352 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

Letter XV. 

To Mrs. Hedgehog, of New York. 

Dear Grandmother : As I don't think you have 
any liking for railways, — being like Colonel Sib- 
thorp, one of those folks loving the good old times, 
when travelling was as sober a thing as a wagon and 
four horses could make it, — I really don't see how 
I'm to write you anything of a letter. There's no- 
body in town, and nothing in the papers but plans 
of railways, that in a little time will cover all Eng- 
land like a large spider's net ; and, as in the net, 
there will be a good many flies caught and gobbled 
up by those who spin it. Nevertheless, — though I 
know you don't agree with me any more than Colonel 
Sibthorp does, — it is a fine sight to open the news- 
papers, and see the railway schemes. What moun- 
tains of money they bring to the mind ! And then 
for the wonders they're big with, why, properly 
considered, arn't they a thousand times more wonder- 
ful than anything in the u Arabian Nights' Entertain- 
ments ? " Then we have flying carriages to be brought 
to every man's door ! All England made to shake 
hands with itself in a few hours ! And when London 
can, in an hour or so, go to the Land's End for a 
gulp of sea-air, and the Land's End in the same time 
come to see the shows of London, — shan't all of us 
the better understand one another? shan't we all be 
brought together, and made, as we ought to be, one 
family of? It's coming fast, grandmother. Now 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 353 

P'gs can travel, I don't know how far, at a halfpenny 
a head, we don't hear the talk that used to be of " the 
swinish multitude." And isn't it a fine thin- — I 
know you don't think so, but isn't it? — to know that 
all that's been done, and all that's to do will be done, 
because Englishmen have left off cutting other men's 
throats? That peace has done it all? If they oughtn't 
to set up a dove with an olive branch at every railway 
terminus, I'm an impostor, and no true cabman. 

Yes, grandmother, peace has done it all ! Only 
think of the iron that had been melted into cannon, 
and round shot, and chain shot, and all the other sorts 
of shot— that the devils on a holiday play at bowls 
with !— if the war had gone on, — all the very same 
iron that's now peaceably laid upon sleepers ! Think 
of the iron that had been fired into the sea, and banged 
through quiet people's houses, and sent mashln- 
squares and squares of men — God's likenesses in red" 
blue, and green coats, hired to be killed at so many 
pence a day — only think what would have been this 
wicked, I will say it, this blasphemous waste of metal, 
— that, as it is, has been made into steam-engines. 
Very fine, indeed, they say, is the roar of artillery j 
but what is it to the roar of steam ? I never see an 
engine, with its red-hot coals and its clouds of steam 
and smoke, that it doesn't seem to me like a tremen- 
dous dragon that has been tamed by man to carry all 
the blessings of civilization to his fellow-creatures. 
I've read about knights going through the skies on 
fiery monsters — but what are they to the engineers, 
at two pound five a week? What is any squire 
among 'em all to the humblest stoker? And then 
2 3 



354 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

I've read about martial trumpets — why, they haven't, 
to my ears, half the silver in their sound as the rail- 
way whistle ! 

Well, I should like the ghost of Bonaparte to get 
up some morning, and take the Times in his thin 
hands. If he wouldn't turn yellower than ever he 
was at St. Helena ! There he'd see plans for rail- 
ways in France — belly France, as I believe they call 
it — to be carried out by Frenchmen and Englishmen. 
Yes ; he wouldn't see 'em mixing bayonets, trying to 
poke 'em in one another's bowels, that a few tons of 
blood might, as they call it, water his laurels — (how 
any man can wear laurels at all, I can't tell, they 
must smell so of the slaughter-house !) — he wouldn't 
see 'em charging one another on the battle-field, but 
quietly ranged, cheek by jowl, in the list of directors ! 
Not exchanging bullets, but clubbing together their 

hard cash. 

Consider it, grandmother, isn't it droll ? Here, in 
these very lists, you see English Captains and Colo- 
nels in company with French Viscounts and Barons, 
and I don't know what, planning to lay iron down in 
France — to civilize and add to the prosperity of 
Frenchmen ! The very Captains and Colonels who, 
but for the peace, would be blowing French ships 
out of the water, — knocking down French houses, — 
and all the while swearing it, and believing it too, 
that Frenchmen were only sent into this world to be 
killed by Englishmen, just as boys think frogs were 
spawned only to be pelted at ! O, only give her time, 
and Peace — timid dove as she is — will coo down 
the trumpet. 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 355 

Now, grandmother, only do think of Lord Nelson 
as a railway director, on the Boulogne line to Paris ! 
Well, I know you'll say it — the world's going to be 
turned upside down. Perhaps it is : and after all, it 
mightn't be the worse now and then for a little whole- 
some shaking. They do say there's to be a rail from 
Waterloo to Brussels, and the Duke of Wellington — 
the iron duke, with, I've no doubt, iron enough in 
him for the whole line — is to be chairman of the 
Directors. 

The Prince Joinville is now and then looking about 
our coasts to find out, it is said, which is the softest 
part of us, in the case of a war, to put his foot upon 
us. Poor fellow ! he's got the disease of glory ; only 
— as it sometimes happens with the small-pox — it 
has struck inwards ; it can't come out upon him. 
When we've railwa) 7 s laid down, as I say, like a 
spider's web all over the country, won't it be a little 
hard to catch us asleep? For you see, just like the 
spider's web, the electric telegraph (inquire what sort 
of a thing it is, for I haven't time to tell you), the 
electric telegraph will touch a line of the web, when 
down will come a tremendous spider in a red coat 
with all sorts of murder after him ! Mind, grand- 
mother, let us hope this never may happen ; but when 
folks who'd molest us, know it can come about, won't 
they let us alone? Depend upon it, we're binding 
war over to keep the peace, and the bonds are made 
of railway iron ! 

You'd hardly think it — you who used to talk to me 
about the beauty of glory (I know you meant nothing 
but the red coats and the fine epaulets; for that 



356 THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 

so often is women's notion of glory, though, bless 
'em, they're among the first to make lint, and cry over 
the sons of glory, with gashes spoiling all their fine 
feathers) — you'd hardly think it, but they're going to 
put up a statue to the man who first made boiling 
water to run upon a rail. It's quite true ; I read it 
only a day or two ago. They're going to fix up a 
statue to George Stephenson, in Newcastle. How 
you will cast up your dear old eyes when you hear 
of this! You, who've only thought that statues 
should be put up to Queen Anne, and George the 
Third, and his nice son, George the Fourth, and 
such people ! I should only like a good many of the • 
statues here in London, to be made to take a cheap 
train down to Newcastle, to see it. If, dirty as they 
are — and dirty as they were — they wouldn't blush 
as red as a new copper halfpenny, why, those statues 
— especially when they've queens and kings in 'em — 
are the most unfeelingest of metal ! What a lot of 
mangled bodies, and misery, and housebreaking, and 
wickedness of all sorts, carried on and made quite 
lawful by a uniform, — may we see — if we choose 
to see at all — about the statue of what is called a 
Conqueror ! What firing of houses, what shame, — 
that because you're a woman, I won't more particu- 
larly write about, — we might look upon under the 
statue, that is only so high because it has so much 
wickedness to stand upon ! If the statue could feel at 
all, wouldn't it put up its hands and hide its face, 
although it was made of the best bronze ! But Mr. 
Stephenson will look kindly and sweetly about him 
— he will know that he has carried comfort, and 



THE HEDGEHOG LETTERS. 357 

knowledge, and happiness to the doors of millions ! 
— that he has brought men together that they might 
know and love one another. This is something like 
having a statue ! I'm sure of it — when George the 
Fourth is made to hear the news — (for kings are so 
very long before the truth comes to 'em) — he'd like 
to gallop off to the first melter's, and go at once into 
the nothing that men think him. 

And besides all this, the railways have got a king ! 
When you hear of a king in England, I know your 
old thoughts go down to Westminster Abbey, — and 
you think of nothing but bishops and peers, and all 
that sort of thing, kissing the king's cheeks, — and 
the holy oil put upon the royal head, that the crown, 
I suppose, may sit the more comfortably upon it, — 
but this is another sort of king. Mr. King Hudson 
the First ! I have read it somewhere at a bookstall, 
that Napoleon was crowned with the Iron Crown of 
Italy. Well, King Hudson has been crowned with 
the Iron Crown of England ! A crown melted out 
of pig-iron, and made in a railway furnace. 

I've somewhere seen the picture of the River Nile; 
that with the lifting of his finger made the river flow 
over barren land, and leave there all sorts of blessings. 
Well, King Hudson is of this sort ; — he has made 
the molten iron flow over all sorts of places, and so 
bring forth good fruits wherever it went. 

So no more from your affectionate grandson, 

Juniper Hedgehog. 




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writer. What will surprise the reader is, that these papers should for so many 
years (some of them are dated in 1824) have escaped collection. They are as 
well worthy to be printed together as any other of Mr. Hunt's essays, or as 
Lamb's essays. They are, therefore, a real addition to our stock of readable 
books. 

From E. P. Whipple, in Boston Daily Globe. 

The volume is a charming one, thoroughly impregnated with the qualities and 
peculiarities of Leigh Hunt's mind, and characterized by all the lounging felicities 
and audacities of his style. It contains over thirty of his essays hitherto uncol- 
lected. In them he chats and gossips at his own free will, bringing in all his 
friends without the slightest affectation of reserve, and often reminding us of the 
frank conversation at a literary dinner-table, when no reporters are present. 



The Wishing- Cap Papers. 



From the Independent. 

The " Wishing-Cap Papers," Leigh Hunt's newly collected volume, is as 
agreeable reading as we have found for many a day, and the essays of which it 
is made up seem to have gained a delicate aroma, like some rare wine, during 
the many years in which they have lain hid. Hunt had many of those qualities 
of soul and style which so endear Lamb to us ; and on men and things under 
St. Paul's he could talk quite as well. These essays seem to us more witty 
than those in his older books, and the fun in some of them is exquisite. . . . 
To quote the good things in the book would be to reproduce its greater part. 

From Chas. D. Warner, in the Hartford Courant. 

One of the pleasantest volumes that has been made up in a long time is 
Leigh Hunt's "Wishing-Cap Papers," now first collected from the various peri- 
odicals through which the author scattered them. The editor, Mr. J. E. Bab- 
son, who has performed this service, has illuminated the book with notes and 
references, and judicious editing, which add greatly to the pleasure of perusal. 
The readers of Boston newspapers are much indebted to his graceful and ex- 
tensive literary scholarship, and he may be fairly said to have linked his own 
name with those genial essayists and wits, Lamb, Hunt, Hazlitt, and their 
contemporaries. 

This volume might well be carefully read by any American who is about to 
visit London. Leigh Hunt walks about the streets, peers into the courts, spies 
out the notable old houses, the habitations once of the men celebrated in litera- 
ture, on the stage, in society and politics, and throws a charm over the most 
commonplace looking thoroughfare. These essays have all the airy grace — 
the easiness to be read — of the author's other essays, but they have also the 
freshness of first studies, which is apt to be lost in working over. 

One of the most delightful and sparkling of these essays is one on George 
Selwyn and his Contemporaries. It is only a review, to be sure, but Hunt 
touches everything with inimitable lightness and freedom, and is a very beguiling 
writer, whatever his theme is. 

From the New York Commercial Advertiser. 

. . . These papers are marked by the best characteristics of their author. 
They abound in quiet humor, clear analysis, calm criticism, and are written with 
every facility of expression. We are taken among books and men, and sum- 
moned to learn of nature and art, Altogether it is a most fascinating book, 
and one to fill up many a leisure hour. 



The Wishing-Cap Papers, 



From the Golden Age. 

Lovers of the best reading will be grateful to Mr. J. E. Babson for collecting 
and editing, in his superb way, the "Wishing-Cap Papers" of Leigh Hunt. 
These essays have been drawn from their hiding-places, in forgotten numbers 
of a dozen English periodicals, and republished together for the first time. 
They are on a great variety of subjects, but a delicate, kindly humor and pro- 
found!}'' humane sentiment makes them all akin to each other. Leigh Hunt was 
neither brilliant nor profound, a great scholar nor a popular author. He never 
made a sensation. But he was a thoroughly genuine man, thoughtful, sympa- 
thetic, and so overflowing with sentiment that it sometimes breaks into senti- 
mentalism. His fancy is nimble and playful, and all that he has written is aglow 
with a sweet and tender humor — a humor diffusive and contagious as the 
smiles that brighten the best of faces, and warm as the June sunshine. He 
never makes the reader laugh, but keeps all the muscles of the mind relaxed, 
all its joints lubricated, and all its faculties in a state of pleased expectancy. 
There is nothing in his pages so electric as wit ; but the graceful and charming 
play of his delicate, many colored-humor, like the flickering flashes of pink, and 
purple, and orange-colored light in the northern sky on an October evening, 
makes us only too glad to dispense with flashes of lightning. His genius is more 
delicate in its fibre, more finely cultured and subtile in its working, than that of 
our modern essayists of the humorous school, whose witticisms are of the ob- 
trusive, explosive, India fire-cracker species. And it is peculiarly refreshing to 
escape from authors who are constantly tickling the sides of the mind with jokes, 
and resorting to all sorts of tricks to keep their readers upon a broad grin or in 
a roar of laughter, to pages which are full of graceful allusions, and hints and 
suggestions so naive that we should not suspect their meaning but for the 
editor's explanation. The violet and anemone are far less conspicuous and 
noticeable than the hollyhock and sunflower, but there are those who prefer 
them, nevertheless. 

From the Boston Journal. 

One of the most delightful and entertaining books it has been our fortune to 
read for a long time. Its tone is strong and healthy, and its sunny views of men 
and manners, of books and nature, are enough to cheer the gloomiest hypo- 
chondriac. It is difficult to conceive of a more agreeable book to read in the 
home circle, or to make the companion of a journey. 



From the Galaxy. 

There is a great deal of pleasant reading in these papers, 



The Wis king- Cap Papers. 



From the Harvard Advocate. 

We advise every one who admires wit, pure English, and good essay- writing, 
to procure a copy of these papers. 

From the Morning Star. 

Few books will yield such a welcome companionship as this, or people an 
outward solitude with such a host of heart-friends. It seems singular that so 
many charming and characteristic things should have so long drifted as waifs 
about the world. 

From the Watchman and Reflector. 

It is a volume which will entertain and delight cultivated readers. 

From To-Day. 

Leigh Hunt is deservedly one of the most popular of essay-writers ; indeed, 
we scarcely know of one who is entitled to a higher place in the regards of the 
general reading public, unless it is Charles Lamb. 

From the Congregationalist. 

All the essays are of the same general style, though embracing wide diversity 
of topic ; being characterized by a lively fancy, a delicate humor, a smooth dic- 
tion, many quaint conceits, now and then a moral, and no little information 
about men and things of the times in which he wrote. 



LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, 
:b o ston. 

LEE, SHEPARD, & DILLINGHAM, New York. 



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